“Karen!” Peter gasped.
“She won’t tell,” Karen told him. “She’s hiding her boy too. She won’t tell.”
“You stay away from the windows from now on,” Peter demanded. “You hear me?”
“I can’t stay locked inside forever, Peter.”
“It’s not forever, it’s just until they sort this mess out.”
“And what if they don’t sort it out?”
“They will. They’ve announced this press conference. They must have something to tell us.”
“And if they don’t, Peter?” Karen asked softly. “What do we do then?”
Peter’s blue eyes looked away from hers. “Let’s just wait and hear what they have to say.”
*
Dr. Lysart Pellan sat on the couch in his apartment, not far from the Bateson Dermacell facility in the Clean Zone, sipping his third glass of shiraz. The gift from Harvey to celebrate the grand opening, was good. Very good. He felt guilty, though, now that his work was done, to be sitting in this apartment drinking this fine red, while so many others had been displaced. Poor Cheung had taken to sleeping at the facility, as his lodgings were now in the Striped Zone. Lysart had offered him a room, but Cheung had refused, perhaps too proud to accept charity.
Lysart took another sip of the wine. He’d meant to save the bottle for a special occasion, but he had needed some kind of consolation now, something to try and make him feel better. He took another sip from his glass and rolled it around in his mouth. Full-bodied, with a hint of spice, it did make him feel better, if only temporarily. Within moments of swallowing each mouthful, the guilt and unease would settle once more.
His mind mulled over the press conference that had just taken place. Part of him had wanted to turn it off, but part of him wanted to see just how far they would go. He clenched his hands as he thought about it, then lifted his glass to sip his drink. The White House press secretary, John Kramer, had made his way across the podium in front of the news crews, as if this was all in a day’s work. The cameras began flashing like an electrical storm, a nervous frenzied pack awaiting answers. Kramer was clad in a sharp suit, perfectly poised, and his expression was confident: the perfect press secretary.
He’d tapped the microphone, cleared his throat, then begun. Lysart sat and watched as he addressed the media, offering a watered-down version of what Lysart knew to be the truth. Kramer had thanked everyone for their patience. He related how the various agencies had joined forces and had been working around the clock to try and understand and resolve the situation. He stated that the CDC were making progress in their search to provide answers, but they could not yet advise on the origin of the welts, nor could they speculate as to whether any allergen, bacteria, or virus was responsible. He did add that, so far, nothing on record could be attributed to the welts, but they would continue to examine and investigate.
Lysart had ground his teeth at Kramer’s words. There was nothing wrong with the Striped Ones! They didn’t have any foreign bodies in their blood, nor in those stripes, and they didn’t match anything on file because they weren’t contagious. He couldn’t help thinking of his daughters, and wondering whether he would ever get to see them again. He wanted desperately to reunite with them, to fix this problem, but right now his hands were tied.
After presenting his statement, Kramer had then thrown to the floor for questions and at this point the press conference went crazy. The cameras were flashing psychotically, voices calling desperately and hands waving to a chorus of “Mr. Kramer! Mr. Kramer!”
The press secretary pointed to a lady in the crowd. “Ms. Bennett.”
“Thanks, John. You say that you’ve been unable to identify the reason behind these welts. Does this just mean the alien ship has infected the Striped Ones with some kind of alien bacteria? Something new to our planet that we can’t yet identify?”
Again the press conference went crazy. John Kramer held his hands up and asked for calm.
“We are still investigating the cause of the welts. Right now there is no cause for alarm. The welts have not changed in the three days since this event occurred, nor have there been any other symptoms. We are confident that we will get to the bottom of this in due course. I am merely providing you with an update on where we are at the present moment.” He turned and pointed to another reporter. “Ms. Fendel.”
“Mr. Kramer, when will the Striped Ones be allowed to speak in person with their Clean Skin loved ones?”
“Ms. Fendel, our primary focus has been on quarantining the town and getting to the bottom of what’s happened. But I can tell you that within the next couple of days, we will be rolling out a series of video link calls so that communication can take place between any currently separated parties who have no other means of communication. Further information about this will be released in due course via the various media outlets.” He pointed to another reporter. “James Ford.”
“John, will there be compensation for the victims of the violent scenes during the segregation process?”
“I don’t have an answer for you at this time.” He pointed to another reporter. “Mr. Hames?”
“Mr. Kramer, what is the plan now? How long will the exclusion zones be in place?”
“As I said, we are still investigating. The exclusion zones will stay in place until we have further information.”
“Mr. Kramer! Mr. Kramer!” Voices erupted and John Kramer asked for calm again with raised hands in a hushing motion.
“Why is that, Mr. Kramer?” one voice asked, and all eyes snapped to a reporter joining the press conference by video feed. “Richard Keene, CNN,” he said, “and temporary resident of Victoryville.” Silence fell upon the room.
“Mr. Keene.” Kramer gave a nod.
Lysart thought the man looked familiar, and suddenly realized this was the reporter who had been at the Bateson Dermacell opening, the day of the Occurrence. He had been scheduled to have an interview with him that afternoon, but, alas, it had not gone ahead. The reporter had no marks. He was a Clean Skin, like Lysart.
“As you said yourself, Mr. Kramer,” Keene continued, “there have been no changes, nor any spreading of the welts since this happened. Doesn’t that mean they’re not infected with a contagion?”
The room remained quiet and eyes were darting between Kramer and the reporter on the screen.
“The zones in Victoryville must stay as they are until we’ve exhausted every avenue of investigation. This is for everyone’s safety. As you know, we are also examining the Clean Skins, so this works both ways here.”
“We’re now at day four,” Keene pursued, “and everyone remains unchanged.”
“Mr. Keene,” John Kramer smiled, “isn’t your specialty environmental issues?”
Richard nodded. “Yes. And an extra-terrestrial spacecraft hovered over the town I was in and froze us for twenty-four hours. I’d say it made a significant environmental impact, wouldn’t you?”
“Well, thank you, Mr. Keene, but I assure you the experts are investigating every possibility and they will make recommendations based on the facts as they know them to be. The facts, Mr. Keene. Speculating doesn’t help; facts and hard evidence do. And as soon as we have hard evidence of what caused this and what these stripes mean, we will share it with the people and take the recommended course of action.”
The room burst into questions again, and John Kramer held his hand up for quiet. “We are just commencing our fourth day since the phenomenon and these things take time. As I said, we are working hard at providing an answer, and as soon as we have one we will let you all know. Now, I thank you for your time. Good morning.” John Kramer turned and swiftly left the podium to a chorus of “Mr. Kramer! Mr. Kramer!”
Lysart sat on his couch and contemplated Keene’s question. He swirled the wine around in his glass, and downed the last mouthful.
These things categorized us and took our healthy, he thought. And whatever did this, di
d it for a reason.
What that reason was, Lysart had no idea. And that scared him. But what scared him more was that whatever did this, might come back. And if they did, the government knew it was powerless to do anything to stop them.
Who knew who would be left alive in Victoryville if they did come back.
Who knew how much time any of them had left.
*
Abbie jumped at the knock on the Chalmer front door. They were sitting and dissecting the press conference they’d just watched together, avoiding the latest news reports of traffic jams on the main highways leading out of the area. If the exodus continued, those left in Victoryville would soon be the only people for miles and miles around. Besides the military guarding the perimeter, that is.
Peter moved toward the door as both Abbie and Josh ushered Karen to the basement and then stood atop the rug.
Peter checked that everyone was in position, then opened the front door just enough to peer through.
“Roy.” Peter spoke to the man standing outside, not relenting on opening the door any wider. “What is it?”
“There’s a meeting,” Roy answered quietly. “Out the back of Johnny Regalo’s Pizzeria in thirty minutes. You should come.”
“What kind of meeting?”
“The kind of meeting where we discuss what’s happening to us, and what we can do about it.”
“Roy—”
“Pete!” Roy cut him off. “Don’t kid yourself! Something is going down here and we need to be ready to protect ourselves.”
“We need to remain calm until they sort this out.”
“They? You mean the folks sitting safe on the outside? The ones that did jack shit when those aliens came and did this to us? Or do you mean the Clean Skins hiding behind that wall?”
“Roy—”
“They’re saying we’re infected! They’re scared! God knows what they’re going to do to us. Don’t be ignorant, Pete. Don’t be stupid.”
“Stupid is doing something rash, Roy!”
There was silence for a moment, before Roy spoke again. “You didn’t change a bit while you were gone, Pete. You’re still a gullible, stupid fool.”
Josh’s father didn’t appear offended by the comment. “At least I’m not paranoid, Roy.”
“Paranoia will keep my ass safe, Pete. Ignorance will get you killed!”
“Ignorance is acting without all the facts!”
“Ah, forget it!” Roy slashed the air with his arm. “Stay here and be fodder for the Clean Skin’s experiments. They’re just puppets on the military’s strings. They’ve fenced us in for a reason, Pete. You mark my words. They’ve fenced us in and they ain’t ever gonna let us out again! If they let us live at all.”
“If they let us live?” Peter’s face crinkled in confusion and anger.
“They think we’re infected. They won’t hesitate to wipe us out if they think it will save everyone else.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Like hell I don’t! Now, you want to hole up in your house and be a coward, then you go right ahead. I am going to stand up for me and mine. I’m going to stand my goddamn ground!”
Abbie heard Roy’s feet stomp off the wooden porch and disappear. Peter stared after him, then scanned the streets before swiftly closing the door.
“Why don’t we go?” Josh asked his father, as he shifted the rug and tapped on the hatch. “To Johnny Regalo’s. I think we should go to the meeting.”
“No,” Peter shook his head.
“They might have information.”
“No, Josh,” he said firmly. “It’ll be nothing but trouble. We stay here.”
“Well, if they’re going to cause trouble, shouldn’t we know about it? Know what we need to stay away from?”
Peter shook his head as Karen emerged from the basement.
“The only information we’re getting is from the news, Dad!” Josh raised his voice. “There was nothing in that press conference that we didn’t already know.”
Peter sighed. “Roy’s always had something against the government and the military because they refused him entry years ago. They said it was for medical reasons, but Roy was convinced otherwise. He’s been full of conspiracy theories ever since. He’s been waiting for something like this to happen. He wants to prove that he’s right, and they’re wrong; that they’re the bad guys.”
“What if he’s right?”
“No!” Peter said firmly.
Josh clenched his jaw. “If you don’t want to go, that’s fine, but I do! I want to know what’s going on. I want to hear what they have to say.”
“I said no, Josh!”
“You can’t stop me!” Josh went to move past his father, but Peter grabbed his arm. There was a brief scuffle before Josh tore his arm from this father’s grip. “I’m twenty-one years old, Dad! I’m not a kid!”
“You are while you’re living under my roof!”
“Stop it,” Karen pleaded. “Both of you!”
Peter glanced at his wife, then at Abbie, who stood uncomfortably on the outskirts of their argument. He looked back at his son. “Alright, I’ll go. But you stay here. You hear me?” he pointed at Josh. “I want you to stay out of it.”
Josh and his father stared at each other for a moment, their bodies tense.
“I’ll go,” Peter reassured him, “but you have to stay here with your mother.”
Josh flicked his eyes to Karen, then looked back at his father, finally relenting with a nod.
*
Richard sighed heavily on hearing of more people packing up and leaving the towns surrounding Victoryville, and of reports of more looting and violence in some places. How long before the chaos broke out here in Victoryville too? The lack of answers, the military perimeter, the barricade between the Clean Skins and Striped Ones, the separation of people from their loved ones and thoughts of that spacecraft returning were creating a tension that was simmering away underneath. It made him nervous.
He ran his hand across the stubble on his jaw as he watched footage of dead bodies being removed from a road rage incident outside of Plympton, some eighty-five miles from Victoryville. One car had accidentally rammed into the rear of another, an argument had broken out, then gunfire had ensued. Next thing, he was looking at footage of protestors waving banners in some of the major US cities. Some seemed to be arguing for the civil rights of those in Victoryville, while others demanded the town be wiped from existence before the stripes spread. And in some places the two differing sides had come in contact, which resulted in violent clashes.
And this was what was happening on the outside. Victoryville itself, the eye of the storm, was strangely calm and that bothered Richard. He knew things wouldn’t stay calm if the contagion theory wasn’t resolved soon. The people needed answers so they could deal with what had happened, so they knew how to deal with what had happened to them.
How could the experts not have come up with an answer yet? If they’d found something that wasn’t verifiable, if it was a new mutation, say, then why hadn’t they just named it already and started working on a cure or vaccination? Why was John Kramer so eager to wind up the press conference after Richard’s questions? Why was the government so scared of announcing what the people already knew in their heart of hearts? That they had no idea what the aliens had done to this small section of the population, or what they wanted from humanity generally.
Richard admitted to himself that it was hard not to think about what they’d done during that twenty-four hour blackout. Even though he awoke a Clean Skin, somehow he knew that he hadn’t been untouched. He studied his features endlessly, searching for a sign that they had done something to him. He felt he was waiting for something to magically appear on his skin or burst through his chest. The thought was terrifying, like living with a ticking time bomb inside you.
What the hell had these beings done to the people of Victoryville? Where had they taken t
he missing? What did those stripes mean? The same questions circled endlessly in his mind.
More than anything right now, he wanted to know just how long he was going to be a prisoner in this town.
*
Abbie, despite some discomfort, had stayed at the Chalmer house, because she wanted to hear what Peter had to say about Roy’s meeting. He didn’t return until almost 2.00 p.m., and when he did he looked wearier than ever, the lines on his face like brackets accentuating his troubled blue eyes.
“What is it?” Karen asked, her features also weighted with stress. “What’s going on?”
Peter closed his eyes and shook his head.
“What?” Karen grabbed his shirt in her fist.
“Roy Kenny’s talking about putting together an outfit. He’s calling it a resistance unit.”
“What are they gonna do?” Josh asked, stepping forward.
Peter sighed. “Nothing, yet. But if the government or the military try and move in and do something to us, then Roy’s little army is going to be ready to fight back and defend themselves.”
“With what?” Karen asked.
“They’ve started stockpiling weapons.”
“Roy sells guns at the hardware store,” Josh added. “He’s got stock, alright.”
Peter nodded. “Some of the others have their own personal cache as well. And there was talk of stealing more from the military if needed.”
“How are they going to do that?” Abbie asked.
Peter shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. We stay out of it.”
“If they attack the military, the military will attack back!” Karen said.
“I tried to talk some sense into them, but . . .” He shook his head again. “I’m a new face in this town to many. I’m a stranger. Roy is all fired up, and he’s got Magnus Bracks by his side. People know them and they’re listening to them.”
“Magnus?” Karen asked, unable to hide her concern.
Peter nodded. “Apparently, Magnus has been trying to reach the mayor, who is over in the Clean Zone, but Russo is refusing to take his calls. They have a history between them, and not a great one. Magnus isn’t happy the town has been carved in half, nor with the way the Striped Ones are being treated. They’re pissed the government fed the supplies through the Clean Zone first and that we got what was left over.” Peter rubbed his forehead. “There were a lot of young men there. Men Josh’s age, some even younger. They’re worried about what’s going to happen to them and their families, they don’t like this segregation. Some have no family left at all, they’re on their own here. This is a dream come true for someone angry and delusional like Roy and he’s got Magnus Bracks on his side, who hates the mayor and is someone people in this town look up to. People are scared and those two will tap into that fear and exploit it, given half the chance.”
The Time of the Stripes Page 14
