Meeks exhaled loudly. “Look, things will calm down in Victoryville and the government will sort this out in a few days. Until then, just sit tight and keep your mouth shut, Lysart. There is nothing we can do, so just drop it. For both our sakes!”
With that, Meeks had hung up. Lysart collapsed on the couch, trying to erase the images of the distraught young girl clinging to her baby, and of the boy’s limp and bloodied body being passed down off the roof. He looked around his apartment, helpless. He had never felt so alone.
His mind wandered to his daughters over in Paris, no doubt watching this latest tragedy unfold on the news; wondering where their father was in Victoryville, perhaps relieved at not seeing him in the crowd at the gate, thinking him not involved.
But he was involved.
And he was ashamed.
All the work he’d done, all his life, was for the aid of others. He studied and resolved medical conditions, ultimately to help people.
Yet here he was, sitting idle and letting people die.
*
Abbie studied the young girl, cradling her child as she sat on the couch. The girl’s eyes were red and puffy, her face pale and exhausted, her hair limp and dirty, and she was still so frightened. Abbie had had no choice other than to bring the girl home, because Josh’s father had turned them away.
“What are you doing?” he’d asked, stepping onto the front porch as dusk fell around them.
“She needs our help,” Josh told him.
Peter’s eyes went wide. “She’s a Clean Skin!”
“But her baby isn’t,” Josh told him. “They’ve got nowhere to go.” He motioned to the end of the street: “We couldn’t leave them there.”
“She can’t stay here, Josh,” Peter shook his head.
“Why not?”
“Because, your—” Peter stopped himself, darting his eyes to the girl. “We don’t want to draw attention to our house, Josh,” he said, looking his son firmly in the eyes. “We have to stay out of it.”
Josh went to speak, but stopped. Abbie heard the creak of the floorboards inside and knew it was Karen. Clean Skin Karen. Josh must’ve realized why his father didn’t want to help, because he dropped his eyes guiltily to the floor and went quiet.
“It’s okay,” Abbie spoke up, touching Josh on the shoulder. “The baby seems to be settling now. They can stay at my place. I could use the company anyway.”
“But,” Josh’s eyes darted down the street and back, “what about them?”
“We’ll be okay. Magnus said she could stay and people seem to listen to him.”
Josh looked a little edgy, but he didn’t argue. How could he argue with the safety of his own mother? Especially after today’s violence.
Abbie had taken the girl and her child and crossed the street to her house. As she did, she saw something move out of the corner of her eye. She looked over to her neighbor Shonda-May’s house, and saw the curtains moving as though falling back into place. Had Shonda-May been watching them?
Approaching her door, Abbie suddenly remembered the shopping that she’d left at the barricade.
“Shit!” she whispered. She turned to Josh and asked if he’d go back and get her things. He’d nodded and jogged away.
As Abbie entered her house she felt a sense of sadness, the memories of her missing family rushing up to crash into her. Here she was, bringing a complete stranger and her newborn child to stay at her parent’s house without their invitation. She thought about what they would’ve said, and saw their approving smiles; her parents were kind, always offering to help people and give back to their community. Even though tears threatened her eyes, Abbie felt a sense of pride. She was doing the right thing, just like her parents had raised her to do. They would be proud of her. It was all she could do to keep their memory alive right now.
Abbie ushered the girl to the couch and they sat there in silence for a little while, not sure what to say or do.
“I never got your name?” Abbie finally broke the silence.
The girl darted her eyes to Abbie, still shaking a little. “It’s Kaitlyn,” she said quietly. “W—what’s your name again?”
“Abbie.”
The girl nodded and her gaze fixed on Abbie’s welt, her eyes tracking it from her chin to her chest. It was strange, Abbie thought . . . for a brief while there she’d almost forgotten she even had it, but now Kaitlyn’s Clean Skin stares ensured it sat heavily upon her skin once more.
Kaitlyn looked down at her child. “Does it hurt?” she asked.
“What? The stripe?”
Kaitlyn nodded shyly, darting her eyes back to Abbie’s chin.
“No,” Abbie told her, “it doesn’t hurt.”
“And you don’t feel sick or nothing?”
Abbie shook her head. Kaitlyn glanced at her and Abbie saw a faint relief wash over the girl as she tucked her thin, reddish-brown hair behind her ear.
“Is it a boy or a girl?” Abbie motioned to the child.
Kaitlyn sniffed and looked down at her child. “Boy.”
“What’s his name?”
“I don’t know.” Her young face flushed very pale. “I haven’t even thought about that yet. I haven’t had time with all . . .” Her voice trailed off as her mouth contorted, wanting to let out another cry.
“Well, you can name him now?” Abbie said gently.
Kaitlyn stroked the single stripe trailing down her son’s chin. Abbie saw the exhaustion pouring from her. Her shoulders were stooped and eyes drooping.
“When did you have him?”
“This morning,” she said softly, the tiredness seeping through her voice.
“God, you must be exhausted.” Abbie moved over to her. “Is everything alright? Do you feel okay?”
The girl looked up at her through glistening eyes. “I just want my mama.”
Abbie felt her own shoulders slump at the girl’s words. She nodded softly. “So do I,” she whispered.
Kaitlyn stared at her, as tears slid down her cheek. “Did your mama go missing?”
Abbie nodded, fighting the lump that suddenly threatened to close her throat. “I lost my whole family.”
Kaitlyn stared at Abbie for a moment longer, before her face curled into sobs. Abbie wrapped her arm around Kaitlyn’s shoulders, pulling her into a hug, trying to comfort her. Although she soon realized that she was comforting herself as well. She suddenly appreciated just how much she needed someone to hold her and tell her things would be okay.
When Josh finally returned, he told her the shopping bags were gone. Someone had taken them. Abbie couldn’t believe that someone could steal from another in these circumstances, but at the same time she wasn’t surprised. Nothing seemed to make sense any more.
“I’m sorry,” Kaitlyn said as Josh left again, and Abbie closed the door. “You lost them because of me.”
Abbie gave her a smile. “It’s not your fault.”
Kaitlyn looked down at her son mournfully, exhausted.
Abbie moved over to the girl again. “I think you should rest now. Come on, you can take my sister’s room.”
Abbie led her upstairs and held the nameless boy, while the shattered young Kaitlyn lay down on the bed and swiftly fell asleep.
Day Five
Dr. Lysart Pellan sat back in his chair, running his fingers over his mouth. His coffee sat beside him, now barely warm. It had been ignored while he’d absorbed himself in the news report. There was something about it that had caught his interest. He’d replayed it over and over again. This reporter, Richard Keene, had taken a different angle on the Victoryville shooting. This man seemed to see what others could not. He wasn’t going for the blood and gore that people fed on. He’d pulled the one solitary good thread out of that mayhem and he’d turned a spotlight on it. The one good deed, amidst the chaos and horror.
More than that, he’d noticed something else that others had been too blind to see over and above the
violence and the shooting itself. Where some believed a striped child from a Clean Skin meant contagion, Keene had asked a question that gave Lysart a spark of hope that the truth might come to light. Keene had asked: if the baby was striped and contagious, then why hadn’t the mother become a Striped One too?
Not only did the reporter ask this question, but he strongly implored the authorities to provide an answer.
*
Abbie stared at the TV, stunned. It was surreal to see her name and photograph up on the screen, as that strange mechanical noise buzzed on and off through the speakers. The reporter, Richard Keene, had done a story on the Victoryville shooting and had made her into some kind of hero.
“Oh my God, that’s you!” she heard Kaitlyn say.
She glanced at the girl holding her son at the bottom of the stairs, then turned back to the screen and listened to the reporter’s closing statement.
“The alien visitation, the riots, the looting, the protests, this boy’s shooting in Victoryville, are tragedies. But despite this, glimpses of hope remain. The hope within humanity that, despite what has happened, despite the blockade around Victoryville, despite the barricade splitting this town in two, a Striped One could put aside resentment and assist a Clean Skin against the angry mob. This is the humanity I want to hold to. This symbol personifies the hope . . .” A still image appeared on the screen of Abbie on her knees, her arms wrapped around Kaitlyn and her son, “. . . that Striped Ones and Clean Skins will unite. I hope there are more people like Abbie Randell out there in this chaos, because what happens if the Striped Ones are not contagious? What if this young Clean Skin mother is proof that they aren’t? What if we find out that the young Kaitlyn Manner was ejected from the Clean Zone for no justifiable reason? What if we let these barricades create a division between us that can’t be undone? Just like the death of this boy in Victoryville cannot be undone. I think that is the real enemy we need to be wary of. I think people like Abbie Randell should be the ones we hold up as an example of how we should behave in these frightening and uncertain times. This is Richard Keene for CNN.”
A knock at the front door startled Abbie. She opened it and Josh stood there with a strange look upon his face. Concern. Fear. She saw him glance at the TV, then back to her.
“She’s a hero,” Kaitlyn said quietly, giving an unsure smile as she rocked her son.
“Er,” Josh looked back at Abbie, “have you been outside today?”
“No.”
“You should probably take a look,” he said stepping back from the doorway.
Abbie stepped out onto her porch and the acrid smell of paint hit her immediately. The front of her parent’s house had been graffitied. She moved back to take in the words painted in large black letters across the white walls of the house and gasped.
Go home Clean Skin bitch!
“What is it?” Kaitlyn asked, moving to step outside. Abbie rushed forward and threw her hands across the screen door, stopping her.
“It’s nothing.”
Kaitlyn looked at her with innocent eyes, the freckles sprinkled across her nose making her look that much younger.
“Then why can’t I look?” she asked.
Abbie struggled to find the words and exchanged an awkward glance with Josh.
“You don’t need to see it,” he told her.
Kaitlyn unconsciously took a step back. “Is it bad?” Her voice trembled as she pulled her son closer to her.
“Just go sit on the couch. I’ll be with you in a minute,” Abbie told her firmly.
Kaitlyn’s face paled, and she turned and ghosted away from the door.
“I’ll see if I can find something to wash it off,” Josh murmured. He went to leave, but suddenly paused. “Hey!” he shouted, waving someone off.
Abbie turned to see a few people standing around, gawking at the house. A couple of them were filming and taking photos.
“Get out! Go away!” Josh yelled, still waving as he made his way toward them. They quickly dispersed, but concerned, Abbie continued to look around to see if anyone else was checking out her house. The only thing her gaze caught was the outline of Peter Chalmer standing just inside the screen door of his house across the road. She held his stare for a brief moment before he stepped back and closed the main door, disappearing from view.
Abbie moved back inside, closing her door as well. Not sure how to feel, she put on a brave face and moved to where Kaitlyn sat on the couch still holding her son.
“Is everything okay?” Kaitlyn sniffed, her eyes wet and questioning.
Abbie nodded and sat down on the couch beside her.
“Are we in danger?” Kaitlyn asked.
“No,” Abbie said, although she wasn’t sure if it were true. “it’s just kids.”
Kaitlyn looked down at her son.
“How’s he doing?” Abbie asked, trying to change the subject.
“Okay, I think . . . I’m sorry about his screaming last night.” She looked at Abbie bashfully. “I don’t really know what I’m doing. My mama was supposed to help me through this.”
“I’m sorry I’m not much help.” Abbie gave her a sad smile.
“No, you are. Thank you,” she smiled awkwardly, “for letting me stay.”
Abbie gave her a brighter smile. “It’s no problem. I’m just glad you’re both okay.”
“I really wish I had his things. We’d bought lots of stuff, ready for his arrival, but it’s back at our apartment.”
“You and his father?”
“No,” Kaitlyn shook her head, averting her eyes. “His father is long gone. Well, he’s at college. That was the deal. His parents had money. They bought me and mama the nice apartment, so long as we never named my baby daddy or asked for anything ever again.” She stared down at her son. “Their boy had potential, they said. Didn’t want him to ruin his future.” She gave a sad laugh. “They didn’t care much for mine, though.” She caressed the baby’s cheek. “Or his.”
The silence sat around them for a moment, as the boy gurgled and yawned and stretched.
“I think he’s feeding well,” Kaitlyn said, looking at her hopefully. “At least that’s something.”
Abbie nodded, studying the boy and the red mark down his chin. It looked somehow darker today. “You know, you should probably give him a name now.”
“Well, I thought before I had him, that I liked the name Jackson. But now I see him I don’t think he’s a Jackson. Do you?”
Abbie shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re his mom. What do you think?”
Kaitlyn studied the sleeping boy for a little while, then seemed to nod to herself. “I think he’s more of a Charlie, don’t you?” She looked at Abbie for approval.
Abbie smiled, and gave Kaitlyn a nod. “Charlie it is.”
*
Mayor Russo switched the TV off and looked at his acting deputy, Graeme Shother, standing beside Chief Blackstone.
“It’s a PR nightmare,” Graeme said, shaking his head.
“That,” Russo pointed at the screen, “was Magnus Bracks’ doing!”
“Magnus didn’t kick a teen mom out of the Clean Zone, Mike. We did,” Graeme told him.
“It was too risky to keep her here,” Russo said. “They’re overloaded. Dr. Preslen agreed it was best to send her there.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Graeme said. “What the people saw were soldiers forcing a scared young teenager into the Striped Zone against her will. We look like the bad guys here. It’s the leading headline around the world. The aliens are second now. We look like assholes, Mike.” Graeme exhaled heavily. “I really wish you had checked with the rest of the council before doing this.”
“What?” Russo said, fighting to control his anger. “You’re telling me you would’ve gone against medical advice and risked the entire Clean Zone?”
“I’m not saying that,” Graeme snapped. “I’m saying that this is not a dictatorship, Mike.”
Graeme held his hand up in apology.
“Look,” Russo said, pushing his anger down, “we’ll issue a statement clarifying the details from our end, and focus the blame on Bracks making trouble.”
The chief sighed loudly and Russo threw him a glance.
“On that,” Graeme said, “what do you want to do about Mr. Bracks? You think he’s going to be a problem for us moving forward?”
“Bracks is always a problem,” Russo said, unable to hide the venom in his voice. “In that respect he’s a very reliable man.” He turned to Blackstone. “Tell your deputy to keep an eye on him. He’s in charge of the Striped Zone now, so it’s his job to keep Bracks in line!”
“Is Deputy Cann going to be enough against Bracks and his supporters?” Graeme asked, raising his eyebrows and folding his arms. “He did jack when this particular episode went down.”
“He was trying to get the two on the roof to come down,” Blackstone countered. “It’s an old building and it was dangerous. If they’d have listened to him, that boy would be alive right now.”
“But they didn’t listen to him, chief,” Graeme said. “That’s my point.”
Russo shrugged. “Deputy Cann will have to be enough. He’s a police officer and it’s his job to keep the peace. That boy getting shot was the fault of Magnus Bracks, not me. He was in the middle of it with his goddamn red megaphone stirring up the people like he does. If Bracks makes any more trouble in the Striped Zone, then that’s on the head of your deputy, Earl. He has the power to make arrests, so maybe he should use it once in a while. You make sure and tell him that!”
Blackstone didn’t respond verbally, just stared stonily at Russo, then turned for the door. Graeme followed him. “I’ll draft the statement, see if we can dig ourselves out of this mess.”
Russo watched them leave, then exhaled loudly and slammed his laptop closed.
*
Deputy Leo Cann sat on one of the beds in an empty cell of the Victoryville police station. Leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, his head was in his hands. He listened to the quiet of the police station, the emptiness. He felt awful. Guilty. A teenage boy was dead. Shot right in front of him, while Leo stood there, helpless. He could only watch as the boy’s chest sprayed blood and his legs fell out from under him.
The Time of the Stripes Page 17
