He hadn’t seen her yet. She had only moments to act. As surreptitiously as she could, Lucy drew the knife strapped to her ankle, and tucked it up her sleeve. She quietly offered her seat to a nearby passenger, and took his place standing up. Keeping her eyes fixed on the Canadian, she edged forwards, working her way between the tightly packed clusters of other passengers.
Lucy froze and dipped her head down, shielding herself behind a couple in front, as Maurice causally glanced backwards. She studied his reflection in the windows and pressed forwards once again. She was just three people away from him now. Lopez’s torture, the Queen’s depravity, Adrian’s disappointment in Lucy. Dan’s death. Good people were dead, and Maurice, the snake, was alive. It couldn’t be allowed to stand. Her pulse raced as she prepared to do what needed to be done. He couldn’t be allowed to speak – he couldn’t be given the chance to betray her again. He had to be silenced. Moreover; he had to pay for everything he’d put her through.
The jugular vein offered the greatest chance of success. But people would see the knife as she raised it. Someone might grab her arm, or the bus could jolt, and she might slash a bystander. She’d have to go under his ribs. If she stabbed him from behind, she could thrust the blade upwards. She could hit a kidney, and tear the intestines, maybe even cut through to some of the central organs. If she twisted it, it would be fatal. She’d have to be quick – wrap one hand around his mouth and pull him back into the knife; hold him close, then cast his body out at the next stop. If anyone questioned her afterwards, she could say she saw him about to attack another customer, and intervened, as an off-duty conscript. They’d have to evacuate the bus after, on account of the blood, but that was a secondary concern.
Lucy’s mind raced through the plan as she edged towards him, carefully lowering the knife from her sleeve. She was just two people away. The bus stopped abruptly, and the doors swung apart. Maurice stepped off, as two new passengers climbed in. With a surge of panic, Lucy darted forwards, drawing the knife, but the bus lurched forwards, knocking her against the doorway as it tried to close.
The knife fell to the sidewalk with a clatter. Maurice turned, curiously, then realized what it was. He recoiled in horror, and stared at the bus, locking eyes with Lucy, as the vehicle pulled away. The doors hissed shut and Lucy slumped against the rail, as Maurice’s disbelieving eyes vanished into the shadows.
Her head spun as the bus rolled onwards. People shoved past her in both directions as the vehicle stopped and started. She vaguely registered the group of white armband-wearers clamber aboard. One of them spat at her boots, and the others muttered derisively about soldiers.
Lucy’s eyes eventually registered a familiar-looking hedgerow outside, and her brain woke up. She jumped off the bus just as the doors hissed shut, and drifted to her halls of residence. She walked past the canteen, dazedly, her head spinning. People were lining up to get their evening rations – many wore white armbands. Acidic burn marks remained etched into the tables and walls from the attack over a week ago.
Lucy slipped past the entrance and climbed the staircase to her level. Her first priority was getting out of the uniform. She had to change her appearance, quickly. Maurice could have reported her by now, and if a detective came knocking, the white armbands in the canteen would do her no favors dressed as she was.
She opened her door and flicked the main light switch. It didn’t work, but the cheap white desk lamp did. Lucy pulled off her fatigues and threw them on the floor in a heap. She stared at herself in the mirror. Dark bags hung under her eyes. Her short, choppy hair was matted. Her ribs showed through her thin frame. Faint pale scars dotted her skin from the lesions she’d endured. A patch of crusty, dry skin remained over her abdomen, where the liquid flesh had healed, at a cost to her overall bodyweight. She barely recognized herself.
She raided the cupboard for clothes, and pulled out something soft that belonged to the college student that used to occupy the room. The sweater was comforting. She sat on her bed and ran her hands up and down the outsides of her arms, closing her eyes and focusing on the soft, soothing fabric.
She missed Dan’s touch. His embrace. His love. She missed Cassie, too. Her best friend’s laughter echoed in her mind; her stories, her friendship, her encyclopedic knowledge of San Francisco’s bars. Lucy yearned for the life she’d lost.
Lopez moved to the front of her mind as she replayed their fleeting reunion in the city. His smile. His unexpected humor. She missed his protection, and his understanding, and she hated herself for it. Tears slid out from beneath her closed eyes, landing on her lap with a soft pitter patter, as she clutched her sides and wept.
The door handle creaked. Lucy’s eyes snapped open as Fliss entered their small shared room. The teenager gasped with delight, bounded over to Lucy and wrapped her up in a fierce hug.
“I had no idea when you were coming back – Jack said you were being deployed or something, I was so worried,” said Fliss.
Lucy pulled herself away from the embrace and shook her head.
“Pack your stuff. You’ve gotta get out of the city – both of you,” said Lucy, dragging the hem of her sleeve across her cheeks. “It’s not safe here anymore – you have no idea what they’re doing to people like us.”
“But how would they even know about us? We’re not showing any symptoms,” said Fliss.
“What if that changes? We barely know how this disease works. We don’t even have a name for it. All I know is that they’re rounding our type up. We need to get out while we can,” said Lucy.
“You want us to run?” said Fliss, taken aback.
“Absolutely,” said Lucy, sternly.
“If we run, we can’t fight back,” said Fliss.
“Fight? We can’t fight the Government – they have an army! Our only chance is to get out before we’re discovered,” said Lucy.
Fliss shook her head. “We need to lay low for a bit, that’s all. This Government’s going to fall. When it does, we’ll be ready.”
“Who’s we?” said Lucy, baffled.
“Follow me,” said Fliss, with a glint in her eye.
***
Lucy recognized the abandoned law office. It was where Jack had suggested they hide recovering infecteds. Her mind flashed back to the night they’d dragged the hallucinating Eastern European man there for his own protection. She remembered the multiple people she’d been investigating for the health department, before she was dispatched to the farm. She wondered how many of them had made it here, to the address she’d given them.
The windows had been blacked out, and algae had spread across the façade of the building. Fliss delivered a coded knock. The side door swung open, revealing a pitch black room beyond.
“Come on,” whispered Fliss, stepping inside.
Lucy let the door shut behind them, as instructed, sealing them in darkness. A brief moment passed before a second door opened, revealing a lit corridor beyond.
“This place has power now?” said Lucy, as she followed the teenager through the disused law office.
“It’s got lots of things,” said Fliss, proudly showing Lucy into the open plan basement space. “Ta-daa!”
The archive room had been transformed since Lucy’s first visit. The deep, sturdy shelves had been cleared of their boxes of case files, and turned into makeshift hospital beds. Lucy’s face fell as she took in the rows of quivering, murmuring infected people strapped to the bunks. The space stank of accumulated bodily fluids. Two nurses patrolled the ward, changing bedpans, mopping fevered brows, tightening restraints, and administering water to parched lips.
Lucy’s hand twitched, moving instinctively to her scarred abdomen. She shuddered to think what was in store for the rows of delirious, convulsing patients before her. There must have been at least eighty of them packed into the room.
“You don’t like it?” said Fliss, crestfallen, as she read Lucy’s face.
“The disease is still spreading,” said Lucy, dispirited.
Fliss took Lucy by the hand and led her through the corridor, into a larger, parallel room.
“It gets better,” she said, firmly, stepping back to allow Lucy to survey the space.
The room was filled with improvised beds and office chairs, but there were no restraints. The patients were sleeping, peacefully, or reading in the comfort of lamplight. Nurses were collecting bowls from bedsides, where some sort of stew had been served with bread.
Lucy didn’t recognize any of the hundred-plus faces, but those that registered her presence looked up warmly. Many gave Fliss a fond wave.
A radio played from the corner of the room, pricking Lucy’s attention. She hadn’t heard a broadcast since San Francisco.
You’re listening to the People’s Voice. Coming up next we’ve got an exclusive interview with Raya, who’ll be sharing the latest from her attempts to bring the Government to the negotiating table. Our reporters were on the ground today gathering your questions, and we’ll be putting them to her shortly, following a record turnout in support for the movement. If you can’t join tomorrow’s march, remember to wear your white armband to work. Let the Government know you’re here, and that you have a voice – the People’s Voice. We’ll be right back.
The commentator gave way to a Motown classic, as Fliss led Lucy through the space. “There’s more through here,” she said, ushering Lucy into the back of a conference room.
Forty people sat in rows, staring at a projected map of the city. On it, several buildings were circled in red, orange, or blue. Lucy’s mouth hung open as she recognized the man delivering the briefing. Kryz, the first person they’d brought here, was alive and well. He tapped the board and reiterated a warning about increased Government patrols.
With a chorus of chair-scraping, the back two rows were dismissed. Half of the assembled adults rose to their feet, and filed out of the room, as the projection changed to a new slide, entitled Ammo, with a map highlighting the Government’s key arsenals.
Fliss and Lucy stepped out into the corridor, to make room for the exiting members. A cry pricked Lucy’s ears. She marched towards it.
“Not that one–” urged Fliss, but it was too late.
Lucy stared around the darkened room. She could just make out a dozen outlines on the floor. She flicked on the light, revealing the row of lesion-covered bodies. A look of agony was fixed to their stone-cold faces.
“Not everyone makes it,” said Fliss, sadly.
Crying resonated again from down the hall. Lucy left the makeshift morgue and paced towards the source.
“Lucy, wait, there’s something I need to tell you!” called Fliss.
Lucy plunged into the room ahead. The sound of a crying infant greeted her. The lighting was dim. Rows of archive boxes had been rearranged to create a worktop lining the sides of the room. The uppermost boxes sat at waist height, and their tops were open.
Two floor-to-ceiling shelves protruded from the either side of the room, and met into the middle, creating an archway, through which the cribs seemed to continue on the other side.
Lucy peered into the first box, and nausea swept over her. In it slept a tiny humanoid infant. Its puffy eyes were sealed tightly shut, and its slightly-too-large head was tilted to the side. Its skin was pinkish-purple. As it slept, it let out faint snores. It frowned, from its slumber, as the breeze from the corridor wafted in.
Lucy stepped further inside, followed anxiously by Fliss, who let the door close quietly behind them. Lucy stared into each crib as she moved, barely believing the sights greeting her, as purple-tinged infants slept in lidless, crudely-padded storage boxes.
An infant’s cry rang out once again, from the far end of the room. Lucy peered around the partition.
An infant’s head protruded above the shoulder of a nurse, as he rocked it back to sleep. The nurse’s skin was blemished and mottled. The lesions they’d suffered were no longer swollen or raw, but they’d left stains across his skin like a map of birthmarks, infusing his bronze skin with purple.
The nurse lowered the sleeping infant back into its crib, and pulled a blanket over its tiny body, delicately tucking it under the child’s legs. He gazed at the infant for a moment, before another child began to cry. With a weary sigh, the nurse limped towards an adjacent crib, picking up a bottle of beige liquid as he moved.
The bleaching pattern ran across his face, and into his eyes, one of which was tinged with purple. The fingers on his left hand were curled, as if damaged by a stroke, and one shoulder was dropped lower than the other. With a gasp, he caught sight of Lucy. His lips cracked into a wonky half-smile.
Lucy let out a single, disbelieving word.
“Lopez?”
“Young,” he replied, his smile widening.
She shook her head and backed away, aghast. She fled into the corridor, clutching her hair, and slid to the ground, murmuring in denial. Fliss caught up quickly and placed a consoling arm around her.
“They told me he was dead,” Lucy sobbed.
“Who told you?” said Fliss, appalled.
“Harvey,” said Lucy, clinging to the ground for stability.
She couldn’t believe she’d let him dupe her. Her mind did somersaults as she processed what was happening.
“I’m so sorry, I thought you knew. I was so pleased to see you, I didn’t think to ask. Oh gosh, and he looks so different, you must be thinking–” spluttered Fliss.
“I don’t care about that. I just… need a minute,” said Lucy.
She composed herself, then approached the nursery. She placed a hand on the door, and gently creaked it open. Lopez looked at her with earnestness and shame. A tear formed in the corner of his eye. Lucy placed a hand against his tainted cheek and stroked it once, then placed her arms around his shoulders, and held him.
***
Guilt clawed at Lucy; she’d nearly killed Lopez in the lab, yet here he was, glad to be alive, and free, albeit in hiding. She looked from him to Fliss in admiration as they recounted the audacious rescue mission they’d pulled off, smuggling Lopez out of Harvey’s lab.
“You remember Kryz? Polish dude, first guy we ever brought down here?” said Fliss.
“You had him tied to a wheelchair in a basement. How could I forget? He was giving the briefing earlier, right?” said Lucy.
“Yes! Kryz was the first to heal, and it turns out he’s ex-special forces. He was deployed with NATO and everything. When Jack got back here and told him about Major Lopez, he volunteered right away,” said Fliss, proudly.
A baby gurgled from the box nearest Lucy, then fell back asleep. It was so small, so delicate; human in every way, save only for the complexion. Lucy’s hand moved to her womb, as she cast her eyes across the cribs. The purple tinge was more pronounced in some than others. She felt disgusted looking at them.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” said Lopez, fussing over one infant’s swaddling. His left hand was clumsy and imprecise – his curled fingers meant he could only use the hand as a lump, to press the cloth down in place while his right hand manipulated the fabric more nimbly.
“Which one’s yours?” said Lucy, peering down at the row of makeshift cribs.
“Mine’s still in the hospital,” said Lopez, faltering.
Fliss placed a comforting arm on Lopez’s sunken shoulder. Lucy felt a pang of jealousy, which must have slipped across her face. She caught Fliss’s eye and the teenager let go bashfully.
“These children are orphans, mostly. This one’s mother was killed by the army two days ago, during a food raid,” said Fliss. She raked her fingertips through the handful of thin, strawberry blonde hairs growing across its scalp.
“Whose food were you raiding?” said Lucy.
“The Government’s. They’ve got warehouses that supply all of the residences in the city. Security’s tight, though, so it was high risk. Luckily, we were able to deploy some soldiers from our own ranks. They got a long way before the guards figured out they were deserters,” said Lopez.<
br />
“Wait, these soldiers – do you mean Hoffstein and the others?” said Lucy.
“You know them?” said Lopez.
“They betrayed you! They’re the whole reason you were arrested in the first place,” said Lucy.
“Not the whole reason,” said Lopez, with a twitch of his eyebrow.
Lucy blushed, catching his drift. It was on her advice that he’d eaten the white powder back at Camp Oscar. Of course, that was before they’d known about the disease. The last time they’d clashed over this, it had ended up with them rolling across an icy street in Boston trying to kill each other.
“I’m over it,” added Lopez, reading her mind. “Just like I’m over those guys reporting me. They were only doing their duty. I don’t begrudge them, they’re good soldiers,” said Lopez.
“Even after everything that happened to you?” said Lucy.
“That’s on Harvey. His time will come, soon enough,” said Lopez.
Lopez paused, resting his hand at the lip of the child’s crib. He bore an expression Lucy had never seen on his hardened, stoic features before, even throughout the anguish he’d experienced in Harvey’s hands. This was something altogether new. He looked mournful.
“I miss him so much,” said Lopez, staring at the crib.
“Who?” said Lucy.
“My son,” said Lopez.
“The one who died – from the spores?” said Lucy, gently.
“I miss them all. My son, my daughter… and this new child,” said Lopez, breaking off, pained by the thought.
Lucy looked to Fliss in bewilderment, but Fliss was nodding at Lopez sympathetically.
“You miss the alien kid?” said Lucy, not knowing how else to put it.
“I know it seems insane, but it’s like they’re back – my children, both of them, in this new soul. I felt a connection that I’ve not felt since I lost the older two,” said Lopez, with tears in his eyes.
Convulsive Box Set Page 74
