The Indigo Thief

by Budgett, Jay

  The floor creaked behind me, and the book fell from my hands.

  “What exactly are you doing, Mr. Bradbury?” Madam Revleon snatched the book from the floor. “Engineering an Epidemic? Heavy reading for a boy who should be getting his rest, don’t you think?”

  “I—well—you see the thing is—I just thought it might be fine if I—er—just looked around?”

  She traced the book’s blue spine with a bony finger. “I admire the occasional sleuth. It’s not often one is offered the truth. At least, not readily.”

  Her eyes flashed to the disheveled desk—she knew. “Phoenix is waking Miss Vachowski. You’ll leave for Club 49 within the hour. You don’t have long before midnight. You’ll need to be in the club by then, at the latest.” She looked at my soiled outfit and grimaced. “Grab a new gown from my closet. Wigs are in the cupboard across the hall. Though I expect you’ve already found those, too.” She dropped a ball of something that felt soft like velvet in my hand. “Synthetic skin,” she explained. “You’ll need it again for tonight—the wrinkles and all that. Mila will do your makeup when you’re done.”

  “Madam Revleon?” I asked.

  “Yes?” She slid the book back into its place on the shelf.

  “How long ago did you buy this place? I—I think it’s really nice.”

  She smiled and straightened the pages I’d spread across her desk. “Oh, I didn’t buy this place,” she said. “It was given to me by an old friend.”

  Chapter 14

  Club 49’s bright lights flashed on the gold pavement. The golden road ran from the city’s center to the nation’s most infamous nightlife destination. Club 49 was a nightclub, euthanasia clinic, and mortuary all wrapped up into one.

  Its slogan—People Are Dying to Get Into Club 49—flashed across its main entrance in silver letters. Throngs of people waited outside its grand doorways, vying for a chance at entry, eager to see the forty-nine-year-old volunteers—victims—who awaited certain death and spectacle.

  I wondered what sort of person would choose this flashy building as the place to spend their final moments. I suppose it offered people without families an opportunity to claim their fifteen minutes of fame.

  I glanced at a clock by the club’s entrance. It was only eleven.

  “The club lifts off the ground at midnight,” explained Phoenix, when I asked what happened inside the club. “Euthanasia is administered to the forty-nine-year-old guests turning fifty tomorrow via their Daisies—glowing necklaces with thick white beads—at exactly midnight. The crowd then lifts their corpses to ‘Heaven’—a white conveyer belt lowered at 12:01—in a process called ‘Rapture.’ After Rapture, you’ll be moved on to another conveyer belt, where an attendant will check your pulse to make sure that you’re dead. From there, management disposes of the bodies in an incinerator. Some are even turned into little green wafers.”

  I must have looked worried.

  “I’m kidding about that last part,” he said, chuckling. “And don’t worry—we’ve sewn a tracking device into your new wig, so we can keep an eye on you at all times. The building’s blueprints are highly confidential, which is why we need a body—you—on the other side. Sparky can hack the system remotely once the signal’s been moved into the nightclub’s classified areas. We’ll intercept you once he’s secured your coordinates. Before you hit the incinerator.”

  Mila smiled. “At least that’s what we’re aiming for.”

  “Are you ready?” said Phoenix.

  I nodded, but my shaking hands said otherwise. I curled them into fists. I wished I had on my cheeseburger socks. Now wasn’t the time for nerves.

  Mila straightened my wig. “You’ll be fine.”

  Phoenix nodded. “We wouldn’t have brought you with us otherwise.”

  “Where exactly in the club is the Indigo supply?” I asked. “You’re sure it’s here? Why would they even have it here?”

  I felt sick to my stomach just talking to them about Indigo. I knew now that they didn’t want to simply steal it and sell it—they wanted to manipulate it. Put some sort of virus in it, then redistribute it. I wanted to run from them right then. But I didn’t have a choice if I wanted to save Mom and Charlie. It was stay with the Lost Boys or die. And a dead Kai was slightly less useful than a live one.

  Slightly.

  “Don’t be afraid,” said Phoenix. “You swam into a megalodon’s mouth. Club 49 is kindergarten in comparison.”

  I chewed my lip. “They don’t kill kids in kindergarten.”

  The two winced. They thought I was being difficult. Either that, or they did kill kids in kindergarten. And I highly doubted it was the latter.

  Nancy Perkins had scheduled her euthanization at Club 49 for tonight. She’d intended to enter the nightclub through its side entrance—the one reserved for Daisy wearers—and enjoy the copious amounts of attention lavished on her as a result of the necklace. Celebrate both her fiftieth birthday and death. The last night of her life.

  But it wasn’t Nancy Perkins who’d be entering Club 49’s side entrance tonight and given a Daisy. It was me. Celebrating a fiftieth birthday instead of a fifteenth birthday, thinking all the while that I was far too young to die.

  “Bertha made you a device,” Phoenix said as he slapped a metallic sticker to my neck. “It emits a signal that will neutralize the euthanasia at the time of the Daisy’s injection. It’s a simple device, really. It can’t fail.”

  Just like a Wet Pocket, I thought. I winced, thinking of the pain I’d felt in my shoulder. Madam Revleon had rubbed one of her many odd healing creams on it, and the burning had since subsided, but the failure of Bertha’s previous invention didn’t exactly fill me with confidence.

  “Neutralizing euthanasia injections,” I muttered. “So simple.”

  Phoenix ignored my remark. “We’ll join you before long,” he said. “We have to wait in line at the grand entrance. Only you can use the side one. We’ll meet you inside.”

  Lucky me.

  I patted my face. The synthetic skin was remarkably real to the touch, but in my head I knew I was still just wearing a glorified pancake.

  A host smiled at me as I approached the side entrance. His hair shined with a sheen only possible after being smothered in gel. “Good evening, miss,” he said brightly. The preferential treatment started early. “First and last name, please.”

  I cleared my throat, raising my voice an octave. “Nancy Perkins,” I said. For once it wasn’t so bad being a late bloomer.

  “Welcome, Miss Perkins. If you’d be so kind as to place your eye against our retina scanner—standard protocol to verify identity, of course. I’d be more than happy to hold your sunglasses.”

  I blinked hard behind my polarized lenses. Phoenix hadn’t said anything about a retina scan. I wasn’t vaccinated—if the glasses came off, the game was up. My eyes were brown, not blue. And my retina signature certainly wasn’t Nancy’s.

  There had to be another way.

  A woman with red hair wrapped in a sparkling bun leaned against the retina scanner at another station. She wore orange horn-rimmed glasses and didn’t take them off for the scanner. It beeped loudly and flashed green. Her host ushered her in.

  Like kindergarten, I thought. Phoenix was right—this wasn’t supposed to be difficult.

  “It’s not fair,” I whined, pointing toward the woman. “She wore her glasses for the scanner, but I can’t? That ain’t right.”

  “But, madam, her lenses weren’t polarized—”

  “Madam? Are you going to call me Grandma, too?”

  “Miss!” he said quickly, covering his mistake. “I meant ‘miss,’ of course. That woman’s glasses weren’t polarized. They’re not like yours—they’re not colored.”

  I felt the imaginary Nancy’s blood boil. I stepped back. “So that’s what this is about? We’re back to judging things by color? BY COLOR?”

  The other hosts frowned. Mine grew increasingly flustered, beat down by his colleagues’
angry glares. “Er—I’m sorry madam. I mean miss, definitely miss—but your glasses—”

  “I know.” I raised my voice. “IT’S THE COLOR! COLORED ISN’T GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU—”

  The host ushered me forward without another word. The retina scanner beeped its objections, but he knocked it to the ground, muttering something about it being defective. The other hosts looked on.

  “Enjoy your stay, miss,” he grumbled.

  Stay. People who came through these doors didn’t leave.

  I wandered into the victims’ grand foyer, an oasis of gold. It adorned the walls, the frames, even the floorboards. King Midas would’ve crapped himself.

  The ceiling, however, was a starry abyss. Walls melted into nothingness, and specks of light broke the darkness. Stars, looking just like the real ones. The ones we could see before the war. Buttons of light swaddled in black cloth.

  “Lovely, aren’t they?” A small woman in black stood beside me, her eyes turned to the ceiling. Fine lines traced the cracks between her lips. She turned, and her blue eyes stared back at me beneath a head of mousy brown hair.

  “Quite.” I nodded. In one hand, the woman held a book. “Fancy a bit of reading this evening?” I asked. “You haven’t got much time.”

  She laughed gently—if such a laugh were possible. “Oh, no,” she said, “it’s not mine at all. It’s my daughter’s.”

  I walked with her to the back of the gold foyer. Two young women ushered us forward with warm smiles.

  “Are you seeing her tonight then?” I asked. “Meeting up with her in the club?”

  “Not in the club,” said the woman, “but after.”

  Her daughter was dead. She’d been in the group that didn’t make it to fifteen. I put a hand on the woman’s shoulder, and she smiled sadly. I thought of my own mom and the notes she’d left for my birthday, wondering when I’d see her again. Or if.

  The two women retrieved our Daisies from glowing boxes. The devices wrapped around our necks with a click and began to glow. They weren’t really necklaces at all, but collars. We were dogs. Trapped. There was no escaping death.

  The two of us wandered into the club’s main ballroom—the place where younger visitors (not victims) were allowed to enter. Bright lights flashed over deafening music, but our Daisies’ glow rose above it all, like little suns. People stared, drawn to the pearly light that was rivaled by none in its brilliance.

  We moved to the ballroom’s edge to avoid further attention. Along its perimeter stood a row of massive vaults.

  “Indulgence Rooms,” explained my new friend quietly.

  One was red and covered in round beds sporting moaning patrons. I felt sick to my stomach. Another—deep blue—was filled to the brim with food, drink, and gluttonous victims. The Indulgence Rooms continued along the perimeter, each one catering to its own particular human vice.

  The woman with the book grabbed my hand and held it. We stood there for a while, hands locked, and watched strangers dance, ignoring the stares of people who longed to look at the Daisies. We were like idols and victims both. In a way, it was nice not to be so alone.

  “What’s your name?” my new friend asked finally.

  “Nancy,” I said quickly. “Nancy Perkins.”

  She nodded and stroked the back of my hand with her forefinger. Her skin was soft like velvet—a byproduct of old skin that hung loose from its bones.

  “And your real name?”

  My eyes widened—how had she known?

  She noticed my surprise, pinching my hand’s taut skin between two fingers. “Not the skin of any old woman I know. A boy, perhaps? Your secret is safe with me. I only want to know your name. I haven’t met a young person in—in such a long time.”

  The creases that lined the corners of her eyes reminded me of my mother. Her bright blue eyes were the same. “My name is—Kyle,” I said finally. I couldn’t give her my real name. It was still too dangerous.

  “What a lovely name,” she whispered. “Too nice a name for you to kill yourself tonight.”

  “WHAT?” I shook my head. “I’m not—I couldn’t—listen, I’m not gonna kill myself.”

  But she wasn’t listening. She had a faraway look in her eyes, and she stroked her book’s spine. “My Marie told me the same thing the night she did it, too.”

  Her daughter hadn’t died from the Carcinogens—she’d killed herself. Probably the only thing worse.

  “My sweet Marie,” the woman continued, eyes watering, “she—she didn’t know what she was doing. She didn’t know stepping in front of that train would change so many things.”

  I wrapped my arms around her. “I’m so sorry.” My shoulders grew wet with her tears.

  “You had your whole life ahead of you…” Suddenly she pulled away and slapped me. “You shouldn’t have done this. You really shouldn’t have done this.” She raised her voice. “WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS? YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE TO BE DOING THIS!”

  She thought I was trying to kill myself. Thought I’d dressed up as a woman and snuck into this club to die.

  “It’s not real,” I said. “I’m not really doing this! I’m—I’m with my friends. They’re here—somewhere. We could find them.”

  She slapped me again. “You fool! Your friends aren’t here,” she pointed around the club, “they’re here. INSIDE YOUR HEAD! You have a mental illness. Just like my poor Marie. Oh, Marie!” she wailed.

  She was hysterical. A few people on the dance floor stopped and stared at her—us. Security would be here in seconds. They’d test my eye with their retina scanners, and then I really would be dead. The clocks chimed quarter to midnight. I was running out of options.

  “I’m on a mission,” I hissed. She looked like my mom. A poor, broken version of my mom, but my mom nonetheless. I could trust her.

  “I’m with the Lost Boys,” I explained. “It’s gonna be all right. I’m not gonna die.”

  She fell silent. “The Lost Boys?” she asked, wiping away her streaked makeup. “They’re here tonight? You’re—you’re not going to kill yourself?”

  I shook my head. “This is all part of the plan.”

  “Oh,” she said quietly. “Wait—cross-dressing is part of the plan?”

  My face flushed red. “It’s a long story.”

  She pointed to a clock. “We don’t have time. I’m—I’m… glad you’re safe. Listen—could you hold my book for a minute while I go to the restroom?”

  “I could go with you,” I said. “Make sure we don’t get separated—you know—so you have someone with you at the end.”

  “Go with me to the women’s restroom?” She made a face. “No, I don’t think so.”

  I guess she had a point… but I couldn’t help but feel that she was acting strange as she left. Was she going to tell someone else? The dampness on my shoulders from her tears, however, said I could trust her.

  I scanned the crowd for Phoenix and Mila. A waitress in a tight cocktail dress approached me with a tray. “Care for a drink, miss? I have beer, wine, nectarine…” I started to wave her away. “…And the house specialty, the ‘Triple C’—Cotton Candy Cocktails,” she finished.

  Cotton Candy Cocktails?

  I was fifteen—old enough to vote and drink—an adult by Federal standards. I grabbed a cocktail from her tray and tossed it back, thinking about how Mom would laugh and giggle when she’d had a few glasses of wine.

  God, it really did taste just like cotton candy. I waved down another waitress and had two more. My arms felt warm and tingly.

  Where was my new friend? I hadn’t even gotten her name, just her daughter’s. There hadn’t been enough time between the shouting and the tears.

  “Three minutes until midnight,” announced the DJ over the speakers.

  The crowd went wild. Lights in the Indulgence Rooms flashed, then glowed crimson. My Daisy flickered, counting down the seconds until midnight. My whole body felt light enough to float.

  “Kyle?” My new friend grabbed my arm.<
br />
  I smiled and started laughing. “FRIEND!” I said, bursting with enthusiasm. “My new friend! What—what was the hold up, ya silly goose?”

  “Long line,” she said. “I guess a lot of women have to go… before it’s time to go.”

  I laughed so hard I knocked down a fat lady in stilettos. Whateva.

  “God, you’re funny!” I squeezed her arm. “You’re so great. You’re really great, did you know that?”

  Her eyes darted from side to side—she was so silly. “So,” she said, “mind if I ask you what’s—uh—going to happen?”

  “Anything could happen!” I shouted. “You hear that, world? ANYTHING COULD HAPPEN!”

  “I meant with your plan,” she said. “With the Lost Boys. What’s happening with them? You said you weren’t going to die like the rest of us.”

  The DJ’s booth glowed white. “SIXTY SECONDS,” he announced.

  “SIXTY SECONDS!” I shouted. “SIXTY FRIGGIN’ SECONDS! I GOTTA DAAANCE!” The blue Indulgence Room caught the corner of my eye. “SOMEBODY SAVE ME A TURKEY LEG!”

  “Focus, Kyle.” My friend grabbed my arm. “Answer my question.”

  She was being a little bossy.

  “I dunno, OKAY? I’m prolly just gonna drop like the rest of ya… TO THE FLO’! ALL THE WAY DOWN TO THE FLO’!” The Daisies ceased blinking and faded to a dull white. “What the—?”

  The woman grabbed my face. “Then what’s going to happen? What are you going to do after that?”

  The rest of the club’s lights went black, and the Daisies burst into the brightest white I’d ever seen.

  “ARE YOU SEEING THIS? HOLY CRAP! ARE YOU SEEING THIS?”

  She dug her nails into my arms. “Tell me.”

  “Ouch! I—I think I get lifted by the crowd to Heaven and the others meet me there. Have you seen my friends? Muscle-y and cool and all that stuff? Have you had a Cotton Candy Cocktail? They LITERALLY taste just like cotton candy. I could’ve drank like fifty of ’em but they cut me off… whateva.”