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Dawn of Dae

Page 7

by R. J. Blain


  I had so many questions and no answers. No matter how strange things were, I couldn’t afford to sniff at Kenneth Smith’s door while shaking from blood loss, hunger, and whatever the hell biting Rob and getting his blood in my mouth had done to me.

  The tingling hadn’t faded; if anything, it had grown stronger. My cheeks flushed. Why had Rob been able to touch me? Of all of the things I had seen since leaving my apartment this morning, experiencing someone’s skin against mine made me hope I wasn’t under the influence of drugs.

  I’d never met someone who could touch me without me paying for it in pain. Kenneth couldn’t. The rash from where his sweat had bled through my shirt still itched. By wearing gloves, the tattoo artist hadn’t added to my misery, although my arm bruised from where he had drawn blood.

  I needed food, sleep, and some time to think things through. If I didn’t get something to eat, I wouldn’t make it home to sleep. That would be one way to solve my problems—permanently.

  First, I needed to get home alive. I’d figure out the rest later.

  The tattoo artist had given me a thousand dollars for my blood, and I spent a hundred of it buying Kelsie groceries and dragging it to her niche. I knocked, and my return startled her. When she saw what I’d gotten for her, she cried. The crying triggered a coughing fit, and I’d delayed heading home to make her soup, feed her, tuck her in, and make sure she had water nearby if she needed a drink. I left when she slept, and I took care returning the bricks to their rightful places and stuffing the gaps with broken pieces of mortar to mask her hiding place.

  Baltimore burned, which made getting to my new apartment interesting. The most direct route was cut off by firetrucks and police cruisers. I gawked at them, wondering how anyone could be organized in the chaos of the dae’s appearance.

  Most of the firemen weren’t human—not anymore. Some still looked human, but their eyes told a different story. I learned to avoid their gazes. I didn’t like what I saw, and I think they understood I was still just a normal human, a fact that drew far too much attention to me.

  Maybe the tattoo artist was right, and something was influencing everyone. The dae? Biological warfare? Could Baltimore have fallen victim to a mass hallucinogen? If we were all under the influence of some insane narcotic, it would explain why people were acting like they were—no one wanted to be caught under the influence of drugs.

  So much had changed so fast, but the rest of humanity, or what was left of it, had accepted the bizarre and downright frightening changes without hesitation. There had to be a logical explanation for it.

  I wanted to believe magic didn’t exist, but after all, I had wished my parents out of existence. I flinched, kept my head down, and headed towards home. Logically, I understood it wasn’t my fault their plane had crashed.

  It didn’t stop me from wondering if I had somehow been the cause of their deaths.

  It was shortly before dark when I trudged my way up the stairs to my apartment and let myself in. I kicked the door shut behind me, sighing my relief.

  “Mommy!” Colby squeaked, bouncing towards me to circle my feet. Unlike before, my macaroni and cheese didn’t leave a trail of neon-orange destruction in its wake. I stared at the kitchen.

  Everything sparkled, including my accursed refrigerator.

  “Wow.” I scratched my scalp, wondering how a creature without fingers, let alone hands, had managed to clean far better than I ever could. “Good job, Colby.”

  “Mommy!” Colby bounced onto my foot and bumped against my leg.

  I wanted to scream and kick it off, but instead, I dislodged Colby with a careful nudge. Abusing the cleaner of my kitchen wasn’t right, and if it wanted to earn its way by keeping the apartment clean, I’d let it.

  I wondered if any of the delivery services were still in business—and if they were serving food I could eat. While I had the ingredients for macaroni and cheese, I couldn’t quite bring myself to make it.

  How would Colby react to me eating… it? If I made more, would I end up with two batches of sentient macaroni and cheese? Maybe I could name the second one Brie.

  I sighed and strode to the refrigerator. Careful of the loose handle, I pulled it open. I blinked when the handle didn’t wiggle in my hand.

  Not only could Colby clean, it did basic repairs, too?

  “You, Colby, are quite the useful little bugger, aren’t you?” I laughed and steeled myself for the inevitable challenge of making something edible with milk and butter.

  Instead of the empty space I expected, my refrigerator was crammed full of food. I blinked at the eclectic collection, which ranged from jugs of orange juice to fruit, vegetables, cheeses, and even loaves of bread.

  “What the hell?” I blurted, slamming the door closed. When I opened it, the food would be gone. I was so hungry I was imagining things.

  “Mommy?” Colby jiggled before launching itself up onto the counter beside the refrigerator. It bounced in place, bumping against the side of the cursed appliance.

  Drawing a deep breath to steady my nerves, I opened the door again. Nothing had changed. I swallowed, reached inside, and pulled out one of the three jugs of orange juice. It sloshed when I shook it and felt real enough. I plunked it on the counter beside Colby.

  If the orange juice was real, maybe the rest of the stuff was, too. There was even meat, including bacon. My mouth watered. Bacon was one of those foods I never could tire of but often couldn’t afford. Someone—something?—had even left eggs, though I had no idea why they put them in the vegetable drawer.

  I had everything I needed for breakfast, which was sounding better by the minute.

  “I don’t know who the hell was in my apartment or why, but if they’re going to leave me food, I’m not going to complain,” I informed Colby.

  I had cash from the tattoo parlor, but I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. If someone wanted to keep me supplied with food, I wasn’t going to complain. Hell, I’d leave cash on the counter, so if they did return, they’d be paid back for their generosity.

  My macaroni and cheese bounced up and down, plopping and squeaking at me. “Mommy?”

  What did macaroni and cheese eat? Puzzled, I stared at Colby. “Milk? Cheese?”

  My sentient casserole replied, “Mommy!”

  I decided it sounded happy enough, so I pulled out several of the cheeses and the milk. Reaching up to the cupboards, I pulled down some plates and a bowl, taking care of my new friend first. Was Colby a friend? I didn’t know—and after a moment of thought, I decided the creature was friendly enough. If Baltimore was suffering from a mass hallucination, I’d just have a moldy mess to clean up later.

  I could deal with that. If Colby was real, at least I wasn’t burning bridges.

  I left it an offering of assorted cheeses and a bowl of milk for its enjoyment. I had no idea how it would eat, and I was too hungry to watch it. I dug through the cabinets until I found a frying pan and went to work making breakfast for dinner.

  Once I wasn’t shaking so much, I’d be better equipped to deal with my growing list of problems. Kenneth Smith still topped the list, but I had the feeling that would change soon enough.

  I wasn’t going to ask how my sentient macaroni and cheese ate, but by the time I had finished my breakfast, my offerings of milk and cheese had vanished without a trace. Colby bounced around the kitchen floor while I cleaned up. Besides the occasional squeak, it proved to be a quiet roommate, something I appreciated after spending so many years living alone in the fringe.

  Once the kitchen was restored to rights, I flopped onto the couch with a groan, reaching for the remote. With my luck, the television stations were still offline. I turned on the set.

  It automatically changed channels to a news station, which displayed the Seal of the President. Any other day, I would have cursed at the inconvenience, but after the strange shit I had witnessed in Baltimore, I wanted to hear what the President of the United States had to say about it.


  I’d have plenty of time to filter out the bullshit after the broadcast and sniff around to find out what was the truth and what wasn’t.

  For once, the government’s forced broadcasts worked in my favor. It was impossible to miss important addresses; televisions remained on the channel until the broadcast finished, and some of the newer displays would automatically power themselves on and change to the appropriate channel to ensure the majority of the populace saw the announcement.

  A timer appeared on the television screen informing me the broadcast would begin in five minutes. I groaned and kicked my feet up on the coffee table.

  I knew one thing for certain: I’d never used a narcotic capable of creating such detailed and realistic hallucinations. At least some of what I’d seen was real, and perhaps the address would clue me in on what was make-believe versus reality.

  I didn’t want any of it to be real. Science couldn’t explain away dragons, winged werewolves, and sentient macaroni and cheese. If everything I had witnessed proved to be real, then it was possible I had caused my parents’ death.

  Magic didn’t exist. It couldn’t exist.

  So long as I clung to the idea I was so drugged my reality had been altered into a far-fetched fantasy, everything would be okay. I’d recover, in time. I had gotten clean once. I could again.

  “Mommy?” Colby bounced where the tile and carpet met.

  For a long moment, I stared at what had once been my dinner. Would continuing to acknowledge Colby add to my woes?

  Probably. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to ignore it. It seemed friendly enough, unlike the other nasties I had encountered on the street, including Rob.

  “Just don’t leave cheese on the carpet,” I replied, not really caring if it did. If half of the things I had seen in Baltimore proved to be real, stained carpeting was the least of my concerns.

  Colby flopped its way across the room and launched itself up onto the coffee table with a squish of wet noodles. I wasn’t sure how it pulled off the stunt, but it left no sign of its passage on the carpet or the table.

  I was too worn out to try to hold a conversation with a creature possessing a one-word vocabulary. I watched the seconds count down until the screen flickered and an image of the White House appeared.

  The seat of American power hadn’t changed over the years. I suspected the rug with the President’s Seal had been replaced countless times, but the Oval Office matched what I had seen in history books—both the government-edited ones and the illegal-but-accurate ones held in more exclusive libraries.

  Sometimes sniffing things out for Kenneth Smith had its perks, including access to censored reading material. I’d probably face life in prison or worse if anyone found out about my love of learning the true history of the United States, but so long as I kept my mouth shut about it, I’d probably be okay.

  Probably.

  The camera panned to the President, who sat behind his desk with a solemn expression. Like every other POTUS since the rise of the caste system, President Mayfield was rich, white, and old. He claimed to be a devout Christian, something most folks didn’t mind, myself included.

  It took courage to claim any affiliation with a religion when the government did a good job of making certain religion remained a private matter.

  Me, I didn’t believe in anything—I didn’t believe in the Protestant Christian way of thinking, the Catholic way of thinking, or the Islamic way of thinking. I didn’t believe in the Buddhist way of thinking, nor did I believe in the pagan way of thinking, either. I found Druidic belief systems intriguing, but I didn’t believe in that, either. They left me alone, and I left them alone. The caste system had done us all a bit of good in that regard.

  We were mostly free to believe in whatever we wanted as long as we kept quiet about it—or not believe, as was the case with me. If others wanted to pray to invisible people in the sky for what they couldn’t obtain with their own hands, that was their choice.

  Me? If I couldn’t obtain it through effort, I forgot about it. I’d already learned my lesson.

  Prayers were no different from wishes, and I wanted nothing to do with them.

  President Mayfield stared into the camera, and as the silence lengthened, I fidgeted on the couch. Normally, the man got straight to business; he didn’t waste his time on us, and we didn’t waste his time—not that anyone but the elite warranted his time.

  It was easy to believe in Kenneth’s way of thinking sometimes. There was little to like about the Elite.

  “My fellow Americans,” the President murmured, and he gave his usual smile, showing off his perfect teeth. He paused, probably trying for some poignant or dramatic effect. As always, it failed to work. I sighed, shaking my head.

  I wanted to ram my knee into his pearly whites and rearrange his surgically perfected face. “My fellow Americans, my ass,” I muttered.

  Sometimes, it amazed me I counted as an American; between my German last name and my bronzed complexion, too dark to count as a proper pasty white, I didn’t really feel very American. To make matters worse, like everyone else from the lower castes, I couldn’t vote. That honor belonged to the educated upper castes—and to those born into money, like our esteemed leader.

  President Mayfield kept smiling, and I would have bet every last cent I had he was basking in the presence of so many cameras recording him. “This morning at sunrise, the United States of America underwent major changes.” He made another one of his dramatic pauses, and I was tempted to hurl the remote at the television.

  “Just get on with it,” I muttered.

  “The arrival of the dae at dawn alarmed many. We have not yet determined where they came from or why, but we are certain of one thing: they are here to stay. Many of us are coming to terms with being bonded, which brings its own complications. Those of you who are bonded may find this repetitious, but please bear with me for a few minutes. There are many unawakened among us who do not yet have an understanding of what the dae mean for them and for us as a society.”

  I wrinkled my nose. While the speech wasn’t exactly clearing things up for me, it did offer one very important hint: the so-called bonded knew something I didn’t, and it involved the dae.

  Unless I’d developed ultra-complicated and ridiculously detailed and realistic hallucinations since the last time I’d done drugs, the drug test had been right.

  I was clean of drugs, I wasn’t hallucinating, and while I may have gotten a concussion banging my head on the floor, it wasn’t the reason the world had changed overnight.

  As was his way, the President of the United States took his time, smiled for the camera and posed, and otherwise drove me to the brink of insanity with his posturing. Any one of my teachers from primary to Bach studies could give a better speech than President Mayfield given five minutes of warning and a subject to talk about.

  “I hate that man,” I informed Colby. “Couldn’t they have elected someone who could talk without having to think five minutes between sentences? Doesn’t he have a speech writer who is supposed to help him make these important announcements?”

  “Mommy,” Colby replied. Its solemn tone impressed me. Who would have thought macaroni and cheese could be so expressive with its one-word vocabulary?

  “In order to restore order and calm, non-essential services will be closed for the next week. All employees will be paid full-time hours to ensure a smooth transition. Centers of learning will remain open to facilitate research into our new circumstances and help the dae integrate into our society. Tomorrow, all essential services will open no earlier than one in the afternoon to allow all citizens a chance to adapt to our current situation.”

  President Mayfield drew in a long breath and let it out in a sigh. “In recognition of the many missing as a consequence of the surge of dae this morning, all flags will fly at half-mast. We will be opening hotlines for the reporting of missing persons in the next few hours. We will also be opening a registry of all dae. In the upcoming days, I am call
ing on you, my fellow Americans, to help each other, support each other, and give aid as you can. If you are experiencing difficulties with your dae, please seek help. Go to your local authorities. The police have been ordered to assist all citizens requiring aid. In order to ensure the safety of all Americans, there will be a mandatory curfew of all unbonded and unawakened, beginning at sunset and ending at sunrise. All unbonded and unawakened will require an escort during the evening should travel be mandatory. God bless, and good night.”

  The television screen went blank, and I gawked at it. It took several minutes for me to recover enough to blurt, “Is that it? Seriously? That told me exactly nothing. Nothing, Colby.”

  Well, President Mayfield had confirmed several things for me. First, I hadn’t been hallucinating, which was a frightening enough realization. Second, I had a sinking feeling I knew exactly what had happened to the missing people.

  They’d been eaten, just like Terry Moore.

  Six

  A unicorn chose that moment to step out of my refrigerator.

  An hour after the President’s so-called speech, news channels resumed regular broadcasting. I had no idea why I kept the television on, but the blare of sound and images of Baltimore burning through the night pulled my attention from my woolgathering and held it.

  The reporter babbled, and she was so flustered I couldn’t understand half of what she was saying. I figured out what was going on from the pictures alone, and her reaction didn’t surprise me in the slightest.

  While rioting was touching all parts of the city, the worst of the destruction took place in the fringe. The fringe always got hit the hardest when something went wrong. When the elite wanted their problems solved, their hitmen were hired to handle it discreetly, and no one cared if a body showed up in the fringe—unless it was the body of an elite.

  When it was, the poor took the blame, and so the cycle continued.

 

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