Shudder (Stitch Trilogy, Book 2)

by Samantha Durante

  Wiping the blood from his fingers on his jumpsuit, Nikhil was suddenly grateful for the solid walls around him.

  At least in here, he reasoned, he was shielded from whatever monsters lurked outside.

  At least in here he was safe.

  19. LOGISTICS

  There was a knock at the door. Phoenix waited for the familiar whoosh as the door slid open, and an older man, heavyset, with round cheeks and round glasses and a thick flannel shirt stepped tentatively into the room. He smiled good-humoredly at her and pulled up the usual visitor chair.

  He offered her his hand and she shook it, surprised at the vigor in her own grip. She was healing, slowly but surely.

  “Hello, Phoenix,” he began, his voice booming, but gentle. “They call me the Draftsman, but you can call me Pascal.”

  There was something about this one that was different than the others – something more frank. She knew she shouldn’t trust her damaged senses, but nevertheless, his mild demeanor put her at ease.

  “If you’re feeling up to it,” he continued, “I thought you might be interested in hearing a story – the story of how the place you know as Paragon came to be. Would you like that?”

  There was a grandfatherly quality to this man that she could appreciate, a wisdom behind his eyes. A story might be just what she needed. Phoenix nodded.

  He smiled again, and sat back in his chair. She almost expected him to pull out a pipe. But he didn’t – this was a hospital, after all.

  “Very well. Where should we start?” He scratched at the longish gray beard and whiskers adorning his plump face. He lingered on her face for a moment, the corners of his mouth curling into the hint of a bittersweet smile, and she could see the glimmer of something welling up behind his warm eyes. Phoenix wondered what he was thinking about.

  Her curiosity must have been evident on her face, because he quickly sniffed and wiped the back of a thick fist across his eyes, laughing under his breath. “Oh, never mind the nostalgia of an old man – you just remind me of someone I used to know,” he explained. “Someone I used to love very much.”

  He smiled weakly. “Anyway. Where was I? Oh yes, at the beginning.” He cleared his throat exaggeratedly.

  “As you may remember, our colony began as a quarantine zone. The old government had plans in place for large scale emergencies, and one of those plans involved moving small pockets of citizens to sanctioned safe zones where they would have the resources to survive in the event of some kind of devastating enemy attack. The town that would become Paragon was one of these planned evacuation centers.”

  That seemed to fit with what Phoenix remembered – the panic – and the viral epidemic the Economist had mentioned. They must have all fled to this quarantine area for refuge.

  “After the outbreak, over 100,000 people showed up at the gates in a matter of weeks. Luckily, the government had planned for this. They’d chosen a site in a rural area – one which was less likely than the cities to be targeted by our enemies – but which was also equipped to handle a decent quantity of people. Paragon was a college town originally. So even though the actual population was small, the city had the infrastructure to accommodate ten times the number of people. Between students and parents and other guests, there could be quite an influx of visitors at certain times of year, as you can imagine.”

  He removed his glasses and casually rubbed the lenses with a handkerchief from his pocket as he continued.

  “It was an ideal location for us to start over. The government had worked with town officials to secretly stockpile supplies – food, medicine, other goods – and had diligently engaged self-sustaining backup systems – power generators, water filtration, sewage treatment, even year-round small scale agriculture. It was impressive, the thoroughness of the plan – I’d spent decades in mechanical, electrical, and structural engineering, and I’d never seen anything quite like it. So when the virus went rampant, everything was already in place – all we had to do was initiate the distress signals, and the message went out to the survivors: ‘Come here for help.’ And we were ready to deliver.” He smiled reassuringly.

  Phoenix was still a little confused about who the “we” was. Were the Engineers part of the old government? If not, how did they know all this? How did they end up in charge? She resolved she would ask him if by the end of the conversation this Pascal proved as trustworthy as he seemed.

  He put his glasses back on. “Of course, there was still plenty of work to do. No matter how well-equipped, a city doesn’t run itself. So when the people arrived, we immediately started delegating the labor. I worked with the General to do that.”

  Phoenix thought she caught a small twitch of something like distaste cross his face, but it was gone before she could be sure.

  “We set to work repurposing many of the town’s buildings into living quarters, as there simply weren’t enough beds to accommodate all the refugees. The first arrivals stripped down office buildings and condos and schools and stores and retrofitted them as dormitories. That gave us the ability to assign housing to survivors as they arrived, usually grouped by age unless they came with family, which was rare.

  “Next we created the job schedules. Everyone was used to pitching in, with the war effort and the required civil service program being implemented over the past several years. In fact, most people seemed eager to help, so we worked out a rotating schedule of jobs that we assigned to each citizen. Some cooked, some cleaned, some stitched clothing, some worked the sewage and water plants, some sowed crops. And of course, at the beginning, a good number of people were devoted solely to fortifying the compound’s walls, to keep out the infected – we did have a small battalion of soldiers from the old army, but it wasn’t enough to keep the city secure. Overall, it was a fair arrangement – everyone got a chance at everything.”

  “Everyone?” Phoenix asked. She wondered where the Ruling Class that the Economist, Ben, had mentioned fit in with all of this.

  Pascal smiled good-naturedly. “You’re sharper than people think, aren’t you, Phoenix?”

  She grinned at the compliment and waited for him to answer her question.

  “Ah, yes, there was also the issue of the Ruling Class. Ben – along with the Developer and the Doctor – was more involved with that than I was, so I’m not sure how much more I can share than he has already. But long story short, once we lost contact with the outside, it was decided that we could spare some of the population for a more academic kind of labor, to help decide the future of the civilization and how best to ensure our continued survival, now that we knew we were on our own.

  “Ben had some pretty theories about the kind of world we could live in, if only we could fashion laws that would uphold certain ideals. But in practice, it’d never been done before, so there was a lot of debate about how to actually achieve his vision. The Ruling Class was selected as the top 1% of our collective intellectual ‘talent,’ and they were sequestered in their own efficiency unit in the old hotel downtown and provided with whatever they needed to facilitate their deliberations.”

  He sighed. “I’m sorry to say that some serious mistakes were made in that respect. I was personally too busy with the day-to-day management of the compound to keep a close eye on Ben’s pet project, and I was,” he swallowed slowly, “appalled to find out about some of the unfortunate abuses of power that group employed.”

  Phoenix could see the apology in his eyes, and the last vestiges of distrust in her heart softened. There was definitely something different about Pascal than the others she’d met – he seemed more practical, more candid, more real. She decided she liked him.

  He slid his glasses to the tip of his nose and rubbed his temples for a moment before replacing the spectacles and meeting her eyes.

  “But that’s just human nature for you, right Phoenix? Give a man some slack in his rope, and he’s liable to hang you with it. Some things never change…” He shook his head. “We did our best to curb it, but I’ll be honest
– our focus was on moving forward. We didn’t pay as much attention to reining in the hitches in the present as we should have; we just wanted to get on with the future.”

  He sighed. “I should never have let things get so far.”

  He met her eyes earnestly. “Listen, Phoenix. I know Paragon is not the best place ever created. But if you were the person you remind me of – if you were my granddaughter – I’d tell you to look at it from this perspective: we’re alive, right? We’re fed, we’re clothed, and we’re not at war any longer. Our planet is slowly recovering, and someday we’ll even be able to leave this compound again. We’ll be able to really start over.”

  He stroked his beard for a moment before leaning in toward her, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll admit I had more than a few reservations when the Developer first approached me, Phoenix. But the plans were already in motion, whether I got on board or not. Perhaps I’m a coward,” he admitted, shame coloring his features, “but I quickly realized that I was better off with them than against them.”

  He raised one eyebrow and held her gaze with a meaningful look. “You think on that now.”

  Phoenix caught the subtle note of warning in his tone, but before she could ask him what he meant, a familiar mechanical whoosh broke the silence and the Developer poked his long, greasy face in the doorway. His eyes slid over Phoenix and landed on the Draftsman.

  The Developer’s voice sounded its familiar whiny twang as he beckoned at Pascal to follow. “We have an issue in the holding cells,” he wheezed. He turned abruptly and left.

  Pascal stood and shuffled after him, but looked back at the doorway with one final message, imploring. “Remember what I said, Phoenix. Please. Pick the right team. Trust me, you don’t want to get this one wrong.”

  20. RELEASE

  The bleeding never did come.

  Alessa held vigil the whole night through, watching, waiting, dreading. But after Isaac’s feverish fit of delusions, he’d rested peacefully. Then morning had broken, the sun spilling over a jagged skyline, and Alessa’s hope had returned.

  It’d taken two more days before he was well enough to move, before the fire raging in his skull subsided and Alessa could squeeze enough water down his throat to rehydrate his withered body. But now, five days later, Isaac was almost feeling himself again.

  For his own part, Isaac could remember practically none of this. His experience of the past few days floated through his mind in bits and pieces, blurs of color and sensation and smell mingling with wispy tendrils of visions that may or may not have actually transpired. Time melded together, the minutes and hours and days all pouring into one, everything seeming to happen at once but also, perhaps, not at all.

  The only thing that really stuck with Isaac was one moment, the slow shuddering breath in which he realized he’d turned a corner, that he was marching steadily away from the yawning precipice of death instead of toward it. In that moment, all he could see was Alessa’s face, the emerald of her eyes swimming above him, as each beleaguered pull from his chest came stronger than the last. He knew then that he would make it.

  And then, one afternoon, he woke, lucid and hungry and alive. And Alessa – he’d never seen her smile brighter.

  Now, days later, Isaac was feeling stronger than ever. The danger of the virus – or whatever it was – seemed to have passed, and his body had responded with a renewed sense of vigor at this second chance. He felt like he’d been born again, and he was more determined than ever to see their mission through.

  Alessa, on the other hand, just seemed drained. He was worried about her. Miraculously, she didn’t seem to have caught whatever had ailed him, but the long days and sleepless nights had taken their toll. She was exhausted, and gaunt, the glow that usually burned behind her cheeks conspicuously missing. She was distant, withdrawn, sullen.

  Broken.

  “Ugh!” she flung down the screwdriver she’d been fiddling with, trying to pry open the electrical panel of a generator control system that they’d found in the basement of one of the many tall buildings they’d explored in the past day or so. “These screws are completely stripped,” she moaned, running her hand over the perspiration dripping from her brow. “This is hopeless.”

  “Let me see,” Isaac soothed, drawing another tool from the canvas bag they’d found in the building manager’s office. Whatever had been bugging her had manifested itself as a cloying mix of irritability and belligerence, but Isaac was doing his best not to take the bait. Though she wasn’t exactly making it easy…

  “It’s all yours,” she relented, stalking to the other side of the dark utility room with her hands shoved deep in her coat pockets.

  Isaac breathed deeply and manipulated the rusted screws for a few minutes while Alessa paced behind him. He wasn’t managing to make much more progress than she had. Finally, she stopped her pacing and turned to him.

  “We’re going about this all wrong,” she interjected.

  Isaac sighed, placing the pliers down in front of him with a clink. He turned around to find Alessa glaring at him, her arms crossed over her chest. “How do you mean?” he intoned.

  She threw her hands up. “None of these buildings were designed to be defensible. They’re civilian office buildings. Even if we could get the damn generators running, it would take weeks to turn this thing into a proper base. Paragon would root us out well before we even had a chance to strike.”

  She had a point. The building was covered in glass, with only a few subterranean floors and a solitary stairwell connecting the levels. If they could get the generator to cooperate, they’d at least have elevators and a security system, but it was nothing that a determined enemy couldn’t get past. The building would, in all honesty, be a death trap for the rebels. But then again, so would all the buildings in this city.

  Isaac just didn’t know where else to go.

  “Okay. So where do you suggest we look instead?”

  Alessa groaned and dropped her arms to her sides. “I don’t know,” she whined. She closed her eyes and let her head drop back, sighing at the ceiling. “I wish Joe was here. He’d know what to do.”

  Isaac rubbed at his temples in frustration, then slowly began packing up the tool bag by the cool light of the flashlight.

  “What are you doing?” Alessa spat.

  “Leaving,” Isaac responded, his back to her. “You’re right – we’re not going to find what we’re looking for here.”

  The only problem was, he couldn’t imagine where they would find what they needed. He’d hoped that the city would offer them some sort of refuge. At the very least, he thought it would have sewers or a metro line or some kind of underground network that would allow the rebels to travel discreetly in and out of whatever hideout they decided on.

  But now that he was here, Isaac could see that instinct had been misguided. What good did all these tunnels do if they were accessible to anyone, if Paragon could send troops to any street corner to gain access and infiltrate the rebels’ retreat? The city just didn’t offer what the rebels needed.

  “So where do you think we should go?” Alessa questioned. He could see the glimmer in her eyes – she was hoping he had come up with a better plan, that he knew what to do. But he would have to disappoint her. He was as lost as she was.

  “I really don’t know, Alessa. Maybe we should go back towards the woods, look for a military fort or something.”

  At least a fort would be secure, intended to defend against attack.

  “Do you know where the closest one is?” an expectant note crept into her voice.

  “Not in the least,” he shrugged. He could probably find one, though, if they could get their hands on a map.

  But then again, even if they did know where one was, Paragon probably knew, too – and that would be the first place they would look for the rebels. Alessa seemed to have come to the same conclusion.

  “I don’t know, Isaac, I feel like Regina would have sent us out targeting military bases s
pecifically if she thought that would work…” She looked up at him earnestly. “What do you think Joe would have tried?”

  He thought for a moment. “Maybe the suburbs again? Some kind of municipal building, or an industrial park?”

  “I thought you said we were too out in the open in the suburbs.”

  Isaac groaned, slamming the last tool back into the bag. “I don’t know, Less. Maybe we should find a spaceship and fly to the moon. They won’t find us there, right?” The frustration was getting to him now.

  “Very funny,” Alessa quipped.

  He whipped around to face her, his face drawn. “Well, what do you want from me, Alessa? Maybe you could come up with some suggestions so I can have a turn shooting your ideas down.”

  Alessa pressed her lips into a hard line.

  But Isaac couldn’t stop himself. Everything was boiling over inside him at once, his exasperation with their mission, his worry about Alessa, his anger at Paragon, the shock of almost dying. And it all spewed out in a noxious jet of ire, directed, he knew, mostly at the wrong person. But she was the only one there to receive it, and so he would let her.

  “Would it kill you to help sometimes? ‘Isaac, where do we go?’ ‘Isaac, what do we do?’ ‘Isaac, what’s going on?’ ‘Isaac, why aren’t you more like Joe?’” Even as he said it, he was ashamed of himself. But the dam had been broken, and there was no stopping now. “I. Don’t. Know. Alessa. I don’t have all the answers. I’m not Joe, and I just don’t. And you –” he threw his hands out in front of him, “– all you want to do is mope. I’m sorry I got sick. I’m sorry we don’t have more direction. I’m sorry things have been scary and hard. But I don’t have some magic wand that I can just flick into the air and fix things – I don’t know what you expect me to do.”

  “Isaac,” she interrupted, her voice startlingly calm.