Marigold

by Heather Mitchell Manheim

  Quinn walked into the dining room with a large salad bowl. Davis stood up as if in embarrassment that she was petting Buster. Quinn just smiled a friendly grin, sat the salad bowl down, and then took a smaller bowl filled with something to the corner. Buster immediately forgot all about Davis and shot over to that corner without hesitation. He stuck his broad head into the bowl and started chowing down vigorously. Quinn quipped to Davis as Buster ran to the dish, “I see you’re making friends with Buster,” she said. “He’s a sweet cat. I saved him when he was a kitten. He was roaming around the solar panels we have.”

  “Solar panels. Yes, I think Audrey mentioned those. How do you keep those hidden from troops and such?” asked Davis.

  “Well, first, we’re pretty far out from anywhere. We are not near any Pods or government centers, factories, or schools. Second, they are somewhat hidden. Most look like rocks and boulders. Ringo had an ingenious idea with those. But we do have to go out occasionally and dust them off, clean them a bit. That’s where I found Buster, chasing after a lizard or something near the panels. I couldn’t find his mom, so I brought him back here.”

  “I see Buster beat feet—or I guess beat paws—to that dish. What does Buster eat, by the way? Or, do I want to know?” said Davis with a nervous smile.

  “Well, honestly, I don’t love to think about it, but we are under a bit of a hillside. Mice and moles, little lizards, and things do get in here occasionally.” At this comment, it was Quinn’s turn to look nervous and seem unsure of herself. She brushed the bit of hair that fell over her eye and twisted her lips up and gave a sort of what can you do puff of breath. “On the less gruesome side of things, we also have some freeze-dried eggs, chicken, and fish. We give him a little bit of that when we have our dinner.”

  “Oh, that’s interesting…” Davis’s words trailed off as her thoughts wandered; her eyes stared off into space.

  Quinn could tell that Davis was slightly uncomfortable. Not sure of herself or what to say. “Well,” said Quinn, “I’m going to get the rest of the plates. The rest of the crew should be here in a few moments. We have a dinner bell.” At this, Quinn looked like she had a genius thought. A huge mischievous smile flashed across her face, and she added, with what seemed like much spontaneity, “Do you want to ring it?”

  Why not, thought Davis. At this point, after all that happened the last few days and today, the longest day of her life—why not ring a damn dinner bell for people she didn’t even know?

  ~

  Quinn led Davis to a corner of the kitchen with a box-type object on the wall, sort of a silver pyramid, a little bit bigger than her hand with a metal clapper in the middle of it. “That’s the cowbell,” said Quinn. “Give it a few smacks with this mallet. ‘More cowbell!!!!’” said Quinn, very enthusiastically.

  Davis looked at her with a blank stare as she slowly took the mallet from her. Confusion clouded her face. “It’s an old joke…from an old show,” stammered Quinn in somewhat of a slight laugh/slight quizzical tone. She then added as an explanation, “When I used to be in the Pods, every night I loved watching old TV shows and movies at the library. I found it so interesting; things people said and did and even the clothes they wore. The cowbell thing is from an old TV show. It was quite the joke once upon a time.”

  “Ah!” exclaimed Davis. “I loved doing that too, watching old movies and television shows. Very interesting. I didn’t know that one, though.”

  “Never mind…sorry. So, go ahead and smack the cowbell.”

  Clank, clank, clank.

  “No, smack it good, fast a few times in a row.”

  A very tinny, loud clank-a, clank-a, clank-a, CLANK-a!! rang out.

  “That’ll do it, dinner is served,” Quinn said as she carried out a big plate of white filets and handed a plate mounded high with fluffy white piles of some type of food to Davis. Quinn saw the confusion on her face and shot her a short explanation of “potatoes.”

  ~

  When Davis came in, she was surprised to see that Ringo, Audrey, and the kids were already settling in. Ana and her children followed soon after and quickly sat. Quinn put the platter on the table and then took a seat next to Ana, delicately placing her hand on Ana’s shoulder but quickly removing it. Davis sat in the same spot she had been in earlier, and Brookshire came in shortly after and promptly settled in next to her, causing her to feel suddenly very warm. Davis hoped to herself that the heat in her cheeks was not showing as redness on her face. Then, before she knew it, Namaguchi came in with two people she did not recognize. “This is,” Namaguchi said in an exhausted voice, “Hernandez.”

  Hernandez was a very friendly-looking man, with skin a deep reddish-brown, the color of a sepia photo that Davis had once seen. His small brown eyes squinted with a smile, and with a toothy grin, he stuck out his hand. “I’m the nurse here,” said Hernandez.

  “Nice to meet you,” said Davis quietly. She took Hernandez in with a quizzical stare before realizing it might be rude, so she quickly looked down and away. Davis hadn’t meant to be offensive, but she had never seen someone overweight. Not that Hernandez was obese, but he had a small stomach bump that extended over the top of his pants, and his shirt pulled taut over it. He also had a slight padding of pudgy, plump skin under his chin. She was doubly surprised because someone who worked for President Everett would most certainly have to be healthy. President Everett had proclaimed being overweight extinct, claimed he “cured” it by providing people with nutrition biscuits only. Davis saw the posters in her mind. President Everett held a plate of biscuits in one hand, a glass of clear water in the other. The caption read, Proper nutrition for healthy people! She had learned her whole life in school that each biscuit contains the exact amount of calories, fat, fiber, and vitamins you need to function. They included macronutrients, minerals, and antioxidants too. She realized she didn’t even know what a lot of that meant. She had just learned her whole life that it was true.

  Hernandez seemed to read her mind, or Davis was more obvious than she realized. “I know, my weight. Even though I’m only considered about twenty pounds overweight in most historical medical books, you don’t see it nowadays. But, because I’m a good nurse, I keep my head down and do my assignments; in short, I know how to play the game, so nobody bothers me.”

  Davis wondered what he meant by “play the game.”

  Hernandez, patting his stomach and chuckling, added, “You don’t get this for free!” He continued, “I have a weakness for something. These processed cakes they started out calling them ‘2025 Cakes’ because they introduced them that year. But the name changed to ‘Canoe Cakes’ because of the shape. They were long, about six inches. And they dipped in the middle, which was cream-filled, then…” at that point, Hernandez seemed to get a little excited, “They’re covered in chocolate. They’re not healthy for you, that’s for sure. Full of preservatives and with an airtight factory wrapper, they seemingly will last forever. Plus, we place them in vacuum-sealed containers, and those are in our deep freeze. They thaw out pretty nicely and make a treat I can’t resist! In the next bunker over, which is run by Romo, they saved many boxes. Romo’s father loved them, but he passed two years ago. Nobody else likes them. Nobody but me, that is.”

  Davis felt quite overwhelmed by this new information and wasn’t sure she followed everything. She was grateful when a small older lady came forward. Even though she was probably in her seventies, she seemed perky and lively, with an infectious spirit of happiness that seemed to surround her. In the customary bob, her amber-colored hair had a bit of a curl and wild wave to it, and her warm brown eyes exuded friendliness.

  “Oh, stop talking, Hernandez!” she said in a friendly but firm tone. She then looked at Davis and added, “He never stops talking!” and a huge smile spread across her kind face as she extended her hand to Davis. “I’m Duffy, the doctor.”

  “Nice to meet you, Duffy.” Davi
s was taken a bit aback by how warm and soft her hand was.

  “Well, let’s eat, shall we?” interjected a tired-sounding Ringo.

  Davis was glad; she didn’t have anything more to say, and her head started throbbing again. Just as she was about to ask about the food in front of her, two more people came in.

  Everybody looked up from the table concurrently with looks of mixed confusion and happy surprise on their faces. “Hi, Romo!” exclaimed Ringo, all the tiredness in his voice evaporated. He then looked over at Davis and, as a way of explanation, introduced them and added that Romo lived in the bunkers that tunneled out to the left of them.

  “Who is this with you?” Ringo said, looking back at Romo, who was both tall and slim. Davis noted that the person Ringo was asking Romo about had her black hair, not in a bob but, in a messy, cascading tousle, slightly parted and pinned back in the middle with a bright blue clasp. Davis also saw that Quinn nervously and suddenly stood up, looking past Romo, noticing the girl with the long black hair.

  There wasn’t a chance for Romo to answer Ringo. Before anyone could say anything else, the girl bounded forward, like a bunny. Spread across her face was a broad grin. Quinn had never seen someone who seemed so naturally bubbly and jubilant. She was all of five feet tall but somehow had the presence of someone ten feet tall, with large blue eyes that looked like liquid pools. A cute, albeit somewhat large and distracting, beauty mark sat above her right eye. She delicately extended her hand toward Quinn and said hello, informing all those present in a cheery voice that her name was Cricket. Quinn greeted her back, then took all of her in—and Cricket was a lot. She had inexplicably short white shorts on that were cut very high on her thigh, the shortest shorts Quinn had ever seen. Cricket had a too small T-shirt stretched across her too large chest; the shirt said in faded pink writing, “Girls Kick Ass.” Quinn didn’t know what to say, so she just asked her where she found the unique clothing. Cricket laughed long and hard. Longer and harder than someone should for something that wasn’t even that funny, Quinn thought. But she also thought Cricket was a pretty little thing. Cricket answered back in a chirpy, happy voice, sounding almost as if she was part bird. “I don’t know, rummaging around here and there, different boxes that somebody stuck in one of these bunkers! And who cares!” she exclaimed, and as she did, she threw her arms out to the side, making herself into a T-shape.

  Quinn couldn’t understand the excitement in which Cricket delivered this statement. She acted as if it were the most exciting information ever told. And honestly, it wasn’t much information. Quinn was dumbfounded yet fascinated; she had never met anyone like Cricket; she seemed to be such a boundless ball of energy.

  Romo piped in, “This is Cricket, everyone, as you have figured out by now.” Romo seemed tired, just making this statement. Ana thought it sounded similar to how she felt after a day of chasing the kids around. “Cricket was a runner. We were out doing surveillance, and we saw her caught in a Drone Scanner beam, and we disrupted the signal before we took her. She’s been with us a few days; she’s a Natural Immune, so there was no recovery.”

  “What’s a Natural Immune?” asked Davis.

  Nobody answered her question, but Romo walked over to Davis and put her hand on her shoulder. “You must be Davis. It’s nice to meet you; we’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Nice to meet you too,” said Davis, for what felt like the seven hundredth time that evening.

  “Well, we just wanted to say hi and make introductions. I see you’re ready for dinner, and we don’t want to interrupt. We wanted to introduce Cricket. She’s actually staying over at Bhatt and Lyon’s bunker. See you guys later. Enjoy your meal.”

  “Bye, Romo and Cricket, it was nice to meet you!” said Quinn with a big smile.

  “See ya L-A-T-E-R alligators!” said Cricket, spelling out the letters in “later.”

  She is an oddball, but a cool, cute oddball, thought Quinn.

  ~

  Dinner passed somewhat quickly and unceremoniously after that. The conversation hit a lull, and people enjoyed their salad, tilapia, and potatoes in mostly a satisfied silence. At least everyone seemed satisfied; Davis had never had any of these things before and did not have a lot of food history for comparison. An occasional break in the quiet was just to ask someone if they were enjoying their dinner or not or if they had a good day or not, and other small pleasantries. Davis was both comforted and annoyed by the silence. She felt like these people should be getting to know her, and as she was stuck there, it would be good to learn more about who her captors were. Simultaneously, feeling tired and overwhelmed, Davis was not even sure what to say, so sitting quietly and chewing were happily her only chores at the moment. She was also distracted as Brookshire kept making sideways glances and small smiles toward her, making Davis feel so nervous that just as she decided it would be best not to talk, Ringo spoke up. “Well, with dinner done, maybe we should clean up and have a conversation?” He was looking directly at Davis, and she felt a hot lump in her throat that made it hard to swallow. Ringo stood up, and Audrey quickly told all the kids that they should go and play together—no fighting! Audrey also told Quinn she would clean up the dishes. Then Ringo asked Brookshire to wait while he and Namaguchi went to grab some files. Quinn and Davis helped carry the plates and platters into the kitchen. When Davis walked through the door, she realized that everything was about to change. She didn’t know precisely what was changing, but she knew she would never be the same again.

  ~

  Davis gulped as she sat on one side of the table, Brookshire to the right of her, lightly holding her hand. She stared at Ringo, Namaguchi, and Quinn on the other side of the table. Ringo spoke up first. “I know this will be hard to hear, but I promise we’ll go through everything and answer all your questions, and there is no need to worry. You’re safe here. No matter what happens, I promise we’re on your side.” Davis felt and looked terrified but nodded in the hopes that Ringo would take this as an indication he should continue. Luckily, he did. “Well, I think the first thing we should start with is the brain control chemical the government injects into you and others regularly. The Marigold Injection.”

  He paused, and Davis piped in, “I thought that was to keep us safe from illness, the Lombardi Plague?”

  “Yes, that is true, in one way. Almost all your vaccinations just have some helpful vitamins and minerals. Once a year, you get protection against the Lombardi Plague, antigens that your immune system recognizes as hostile invaders. You then produce antibodies in response that your body remembers for the future. If the virus reappears, your immune system recognizes the antigen and attacks it immediately before it can spread and cause sickness. Also, once a year, you get a flu shot; it’s different than the regular one you usually get every month, but they don’t tell you that.” Davis nodded again, although she wasn’t quite sure she completely understood what Ringo was saying. He continued, “It’s not that important. What is important is all of them also have a chemical in there; it alters how your brain works. It makes you susceptible to suggestions, influences. It’s pretty powerful brain control. They use this to regulate, curb, and discipline the population according to their needs and wants. If you think about it, you’ll now likely remember some things you’ve done in the past that you would not do now.”

  Davis had a flash of a young boy, screaming. Tears streaked down his face. “How can they do that?”

  “Well, they want the ultimate control, right?” He paused and then added as if further clarification was needed, “I mean, they don’t want you thinking for yourselves because that could be dangerous for them.” Ringo took a deep breath and held it, pausing for a second, his eyes looking up toward the ceiling as if in deep thought over what to say next. “Davis, for instance, do you think that President Everett eliminated all illnesses? That people no longer get, say, cancer? Or have heart attacks? Or strokes? Even on a much lesser train of t
hought, a common cold or flu? You’ve been sick before; I know you have because everybody has. You were likely put on a “special assignment,” so you were not at work. They convince you it’s because you did something wrong. You didn’t get your last injection on time. Or you didn’t eat or shower properly. And then, you start to believe it. Because as far as you know, they’ve never lied to you before. And they provide you with a home, job, and food. And your brain processes all those things very fast, and being under their control, you just believe it. You have no choice in it.” Here Ringo took a deep breath. “The sad part is—well, it’s all tragically sad—the terminally sick people, the people I mentioned who have something like cancer, a stroke, or severe heart attack, they’re put away. They’re either shoved into a Class Three Pod or a hospital. But, it’s a hospital in name only. Nobody takes care of them. They’re lucky if they get clean bathrooms, much less any kind of medicine or nutrition.”

  Davis felt tense and hot all over. She looked down and saw she was squeezing Brookshire’s hand very tightly. “Sorry,” she said as she wrestled her hand from the firm grip he was returning.

  Brookshire stood up. “I think I’ll get some water. Does anyone else want any?”

  “Yes, please. Would you mind bringing some in for everyone?” said Namaguchi, answering for everyone at the table.