“Well, now, how did you get past the border, exactly?” asked Brookshire.
“Well, Chris got me as close to the border as possible, and for two nights in a row, I watched shift changes and if there was a time that the Drone Scanners were more likely to fly over. I also found a pathway, I don’t know how it got there, but it was a few miles east of the actual border. Tall trees pretty well covered it, and lots of bushes surrounded it, so it would be difficult for a Drone Scanner to penetrate to get a scan. More importantly, I noticed a big gap in guard coverage between 1 a.m. and 2 a.m. I waited until a little past one in the morning, and then I ran for it.”
“Interesting,” Brookshire said as he lightly scratched his chin as if he was trying to think about something simultaneously as he was talking. “At any rate, you made it; that’s great. What did you do after the crossing?”
“Well, once I got into what was previously Washington, I traveled to a safe house. Then, I went to a wonderful place just outside what used to be Portland, Oregon. It’s called Teeterville. It’s a haven for people traveling—it’s great. They have a pretty basic kind of circular bunker carved out into a huge mountainside. The dining hall and kitchen are in the middle, and all around the outside edge are about thirty old hollowed out VW Bug vans that have a mattress, blankets, pillows…those are the bedrooms. It affords privacy while maximizing space for as many beds as possible. The couple that run it, Mark and Tamara, brew their own beer, make wine, and hold concerts in the middle courtyard at least once a month. They have an amazing hydroponic garden too. I imagine if I hadn’t wanted to come here so badly, I would have stayed there as long as they’d have me!”
Josie continued telling them that Mark and Tamara mostly catered to traveling guests, but their kids and grandkids lived there and a few neighbors who had lost the ability to stay on their own. Josie also told them how surprised they’d be by how many people were not following the “rules.” They either live in bunkers or their old houses, even. There are even hidden caches filled with water, first aid kits, dehydrated foods, fishing poles—as long as you know what rocks to look for, you can know where to dig and get a quick supply fix if you need it.
“The rocks to look for?” Ringo looked confused, yet interested.
“Yes, it’s a smart system. Since you’re walking in rural areas, you look for the yellow and black “Deer Crossing” signs and then a large black rock about ten steps away from the road. Then you dig. They’re not at every sign, but at enough of them, and it’s supposed to be emergency supplies, right?”
Davis spoke up with curiosity on her face, “And you said something about sometimes people live in their old homes? Weren’t privately owned houses outlawed? Even had all water, electricity, and services like trash, cut off?”
“Yes, they were,” answered Josie. “But, a lot of them are self-sufficient as far as having gardens or well access that was never closed off. Many operate on a barter system. Maybe the house two miles away has a potato supply but no eggs, but their neighbor has chickens and eggs. And another neighbor has managed to keep up a strawberry and herb patch. And another person they know in the next neighborhood has a stream nearby that still provides fish. I guess they live somewhat of a pioneer life, but it works for them. Naturally, they’ve been outfitted with solar panels to provide electricity, and outhouses are back in vogue!”
“Don’t they worry about getting caught?” asked Brookshire. “I mean, they are risking a lot, aren’t they?”
“Yes, in one way, but they’re all off the beaten path. These people were on the outskirts before anything ever happened. And they keep quiet, not calling attention to themselves; they don’t hold anti-government rallies or anything. And, as you know, the Lombardi Plague decimated the population. While the Security Patrols and the Drone Scanners pick up some slack for the lack of Patrols—there just aren’t enough people to enforce. So, if you keep quiet, they mostly let you be. If they are even aware of where you are, that is.”
Davis was perplexed about this, the thought of people living on the outskirts, not following the rules, but getting away with it. It also occurred to her that these people were not scanning in at Pods and getting sent to medical for monthly vaccinations yet were not getting ill. They were living perfect everyday lives from what she understood from Josie. Or at least as routine as could be under the current circumstances. She was also intrigued by this place, Teeterville, that Josie had mentioned. It sounded like quite an exciting place, a refuge for tumultuous times.
September 16, 2056 –
Revelations
Davis decided the best way to sort out what was happening and what her next steps should be was to try and get back on a more regular schedule. She forced herself to get up at seven the following day, and after a quick rinse off in the bathroom, she went into the kitchen to help Quinn and Ana with the breakfast.
At the table that morning, everybody ate silently, in contrast to the lively conversation they had enjoyed the night before. Davis wondered if this would be the way things worked from now on. They would just go day by day, trying to be polite to each other, having a chit-chat now and then, but not really living any kind of life. While she did not have any close family or friends, she missed her acquaintances. Davis felt like she had more purpose outside; she might not always have the most exciting life, but it felt meaningful, at least. And in a short period, she had learned that all that meaning was most likely pointless. Davis let out a heavy sigh.
“What’s up, Davis-girl?” Brookshire made Davis smile with his sweet comment.
“These vicissitudes of fortune, I feel I can’t escape them, yet I can’t adapt to them either. I’ve never really had to accept any kind of changes in my life, so these circumstances have made my life exceedingly difficult.” Davis tiredly sighed again and looked down at her plate, where her fork was pushing roasted potatoes around.
“Wow! Ve-Sids-Te-Todos? What does that even mean?” Olivia was laughing a little bit as she asked.
“Ah, little one, try, Vuh-si-suh-tood,” Davis answered very slowly, enunciating each syllable. “I don’t know why I used that word. I’ve always just liked the way it sounds, I guess. But it just means a change of circumstances, one that typically is unwelcome. So, I was just saying, ‘These changes of fortune,’ I suppose.” And yet another loud and heavy sigh.
“Oh!!” giggled Olivia. “That’s a funny word. Mom! I can’t deal with the”—here Olivia paused and said very slowly—“Vuh-Stis-Eh-Tudes of my chores, so I better not do them anymore.” Olivia had said “vicissitudes” at such a slow and careful pace that she almost hit the nail on the proverbial head with the pronunciation. She also almost fell off the bench when she got into a giggling fit over her newfound favorite word.
Audrey squeezed her daughter’s hand lightly and told her to settle down and finish her breakfast before school got underway.
Brookshire leaned into Davis’s ear, getting very close, so close she could feel his warm breath playing on her skin and giving her goosebumps despite the warmth. Namaguchi caught Davis’s eyes, flickering with joy. He nodded and asked, “All good?”
“Yes, Brookshire just let me know he has a copy of the book The Great Gatsby in his room. Reminded me it was my favorite and offered to let me borrow it,” giggled Davis nervously, even though there was no reason to laugh. “So, yes, Brookshire, I’ll borrow that book from you if I can.”
Davis then asked the table collectively if they needed any help cleaning up after breakfast before she left. They all said “no,” but Davis picked up hers and Brookshire’s plates and took them to the kitchen anyhow. Namaguchi followed her in. He asked Brookshire to give him a minute and suggested that perhaps Brookshire could get the book while he quickly spoke to Davis alone. Brookshire obliged, and Namaguchi started, “Davis, I know things have been complicated for you. And we complicated them more. I want to make sure you understand whether you help us or n
ot; I’m sorry for that. Even if you don’t help us, Everett will propose to marry you. It’s inevitable. It’s too good of a story for him to resist. But the other thing you need to know is one of his many, many wives is your mom, Ruby.”
Davis’s mouth fell open with yet another shocking blow. “What, are you kidding me? I just can’t believe one more insane thing!”
“No, I wish I was, but I’m not. It was always Everett’s plan to marry you; that’s why you’ve had no Inquiries of Interest. Everett considered you to be off-limits, always have been. Not to be indelicate, but he was going to marry you after Ruby died. He couldn’t risk you running into her at the Palace, especially since you guys look so much alike.”
Davis took a deep breath and stopped talking for a full minute as she mulled the new information over in her mind. “You know, Namaguchi, thank you for telling me. I appreciate it. But I just can’t take one more thing. And I’m sorry, I need to go home. I can’t help you guys, I’m sorry, but I’ve made up my mind. Can you let Brookshire know when he comes back with the book that I’ve gone back to my room, and I want to be alone?”
Namaguchi nodded; he had a small, downturned smile of sadness. “I understand.”
“Well, I won’t be completely alone,” Davis said as she scooped up Buster, who had just walked in and was urgently rubbing her legs as if asking for petting. “He’s the only one I can trust. I’m going to take him to my room so I can talk to someone who isn’t absolutely crazy!” And with that, Davis stormed off, but before she exited the door, she turned back, stomped her foot, and said, “Another bonus for Buster? He’s not asking me to commit murder!” Namaguchi saw salty tears budding in the corners of her eyes and starting to make their way down her cheeks. He felt terrible but didn’t take offense. He knew Davis only said those things because of the stress and took Buster as she just needed to cuddle something warm, cozy, soft, and be with something that wasn’t asking anything of her.
~
Davis spent the rest of the afternoon petting Buster in her room and letting him know what a beautiful, good cat he was. Buster agreed, and Davis found out that a soft coat on a docile cat was great for absorbing tears. She nodded off with one arm wrapped around the cat, Buster’s head resting on her bicep. She awoke with what felt like only a few minutes later when Buster got up and went to the door. “Oh, you’re leaving too, are you, turncoat?” Buster looked at her with all the sympathy a cat can muster. “I’m sorry, Buster, you’re a good baby. Good kitty.” And she went to let him out the door. When she opened the door, she saw The Great Gatsby lying there with a note attached:
Feel better, Old Sport. —b
Davis found the note odd. She hadn’t said anything about feeling sick or unwell. Perhaps Namaguchi didn’t want to say too much, and he kept it simple. Either way, Davis decided she would spend the rest of the day in her room reading, napping, and ignoring the world inside the bunker once more. She missed the lunch that Ana and Quinn served that day, although someone dropped off a tray at her door. All went untouched except the water. She didn’t even bother to bring the tray in her room, just picked up the water glass, turned around, and went back into her room, closing the door behind her. Davis wasn’t trying to be rude; she was just too tired to try and pretend she had any enthusiasm about anything right now.
Davis also skipped dinner and took a nap, sliding back into her old routine of late-night living. After she was sure everyone had gone to bed, she crept out to the kitchen to get some food and water to drink. To her surprise, Namaguchi was standing there and saw her before she had a chance to leave. “Hello, Davis, come on in.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just want to get a drink of water.”
“You’re not disturbing me; come in. Help yourself to whatever you might want in here. By the way, I talked to Ringo about you leaving. It might take a couple of days to finalize logistics. While you’re waiting, feel free to continue to eat your meals with us, if you want. It’s up to you.”
“Can I ask you a question, Namaguchi?”
“Yes, of course.”
“How well do you know President Everett? Do you work with him one-on-one? How can you justify arranging for his murder?”
“Well, that’s a few different questions. First, I know President Everett very well. I knew him before he even was President; I was a professor at the school he attended. He took a chemistry class of mine, and I thought he was bright and already well-educated. So, I offered to mentor him. We became friends, and from there, after the incident when the Lombardi Plague got created—well, he was my friend. His story checked out. It didn’t occur to me then that he could be lying. When he wanted me to be an advisor after he got elected, I felt honored, maybe a bit puffed up over the title. But I also felt good about everything we were doing. I was on mind control for so many years. Afterward, I started to notice things, things he did that were cruel or manipulative. But I was scared, too. He was my friend and the President. So, I kept quiet; I had to fight it myself whenever I doubted him. But, soon enough, it became too much to overlook. Second, I don’t work with him one-on-one. He is never without at least four or five Security Patrol Guards, so that would be impossible. But he’s also intensely private and tends to pass laws and such on his own, without help. Lastly, you asked how I can turn on him and help plan his murder? Well, I just know, in my heart, he is an evil man. Take away the lying. The mass manipulation. The control of the people. Do you know how many deaths he directly caused? If he were a civilian, they’d call him a serial killer. Why should he be protected from justice just because he is President?”
“Has he killed people himself, killed people with his own hands?” asked Davis in shock.
“No, well—maybe. I’m honestly not sure about that. But what is the difference between ordering death and doing the deed yourself? In my mind, there is no difference.”
“One thing I don’t understand is you guys keep talking about this mind control and that our freedoms are gone. But we have libraries full of books and movies. We have ‘family nights’ where we play board games and sports with each other and mingle. All religions are allowed. Homosexuality is technically illegal, but they don’t widely enforce the law. I don’t understand where all the deficit in our freedoms is. As far as I know, except for the Pod living, assigned workforce, and plural marriage, much is the same as it ever was before the plague. And the changes were to protect us and help repopulate the earth.”
“Well, that’s both the evil and the genius in President Everett’s plans. He took away your private homes and business, but he built these Pods that provide warm beds, a shower, medical exam, food, great libraries with all those movies and books. It’s natural not to think about what is lacking when the government provides all your necessities. Especially when done under the guise that it’s for your health and well-being.” Namaguchi paused here and rolled his eyes up, looking at the ceiling, as if he were trying to gather his next thoughts. “Yes, you can go to church, too. The same church your family has gone to for generations or a new one altogether. But, the official religion of the United State is Everettisim. Does President Everett care if you believe he is the only one with direct communication with God and he is the final word here? Not really, because Everett still has the final word on what we do, say, eat—he doesn’t need us to call him God because he knows people might rear up and kick like crazy mules if he takes their religion away. He also knows some people will believe he is the highest ordained and pass that thought to their family, friends, and children. So, Everett simply put his religion in and said, “Well, this is the government’s religion, but you’re still free to practice other religions.” Things like that make people less aware. It feels like their religion is still protected. Not to mention the mind control drug routinely administered. That in itself takes away your right to free thought because it convinces you everything the government is doing is correct, whether it is
or not. You lose the power to decide for yourself.”
“I guess I see what you mean a little bit,” mused Davis. “But I just still don’t see all the evil in it that you do.”
“That’s because you see the big picture that Everett presents. Have you ever seen a completed intricate piece of artistic embroidery? It’s a lot like that. Embroidery is a beautiful picture created on canvas with strings, yarn, or threads. It can be of a lake, sunrise, an animal—the options are endless. But the point is the finished picture is art. On the front side, you see a beautiful scene; that’s the picture President Everett wants you to see. Now, if a real artisan made it; the back would look nearly as good as the front. But lots of people get lazy with the back or don’t have the skill required. So, the backside gets all tangled and confused; back there, it’s a jumbled mess. It doesn’t form a clear image, like as seen on the front. President Everett is a master at making the front—the side everyone looks at—very beautiful. But, if you saw the back, it is a disaster. He simply became very adept at knowing which strings to pull to create the best picture on the front side.”
“Well,” Davis asked. “Then how did so many people get fooled? You remarked that the brain control element wasn’t in the Marigold Injection at the very beginning. So, how did everyone all go along with it so easily?”
“People thought Everett was protecting them. They’d seen, if not all, almost all of their families and friends die a horrible death. Things were an absolute mess. They needed and wanted to hear they’d be protected.”
“Well, I get that, of course. I’ve felt the need for protection since I got here—no insult to you guys. But I guess I just don’t understand how it became such a big mess seemingly overnight.”
“Oh, my dear,” he said, “That’s my point. A society never crumbles all at once. It is one piece at a time we march toward destruction.”
Marigold Page 13
