by Mark Tufo
The room went silent as two young men and one older woman hesitantly approached the medical manager and signed his sheet. Virginia covered her mouth, positive some horrible noise might escape her lips if she didn't hold them shut. She turned away, unable to watch as one of the security associates led the three away. How could they give up so easily?
The medical manager left, the second security associate at his heels. The door slammed closed behind him, locking with a loud click.
Virginia looked over at her new friends, grateful that both of them were above simply signing their lives away. She had lost too much as of late, and she couldn't bear the thought of losing anything more.
"I can't believe they would just as soon kill us," Emily said, her eyes still on the door.
"It's probably less paperwork for them," Olaf said.
Virginia nodded in agreement, then moved to the young woman on the floor. She knelt down at the woman's side, gently putting a hand on her shoulder. "Hey . . . are you okay?"
The woman was unresponsive, but alive.
The door unlocked and opened once more, this time with two nurse associates pushing a gurney. Virginia backed away as the nurse associates charged up to the fallen woman. A security associate gruffly watched the door as the nurse associates picked up the woman, tossed her onto the gurney, and removed her from the room. The door locked with another jarring click, the room falling deathly silent.
Virginia looked around, the empty beds suddenly adding a strange new ambiance to the room. That the beds represented three, maybe four, dead people gave them almost a haunted feel, as if their spirits might rise up through their disheveled sheets and haunt the room from that day forward. The absence of just four people, however, did relax the room in a way Virginia did not want to admit. What had her world come to? Her mind drifted back to thoughts of her family. She had to stay strong if she ever wanted to see George and the kids again. She was determined to find a way out, back to her family.
Virginia looked up as the camera's eye passed over her. She wondered if a group of research managers in white coats was watching them, or if maybe the camera simply fed into a small, dark room where one or two low level associates of some kind stared at tiny screens and ate popcorn all day.
The camera panned to the other side of the room and Virginia turned to her friends. She found it interesting that despite them, the other remaining patients, and the camera, she could still feel so alone. She considered that everyone else in there probably felt the same.
Emily gathered up the cards and began to shuffle. Virginia and Olaf both motioned that they weren't in the mood to play, and so she set up a game of solitaire with a shrug.
Chapter 94
SHELLEY TOOK the school shuttle past Housing to the exchange garage, where she found the direct line to the Food-Mart. Finding herself bombarded with the bulk of her mother's chores, Shelley held strong as she carried George's debit card and the burlap grocery bags through the dense shuttle crowd. Virginia had always gone shopping on Wednesdays, insisting that it was the best day of the week for all of the good sales, so Shelley too went on Wednesday.
She wore a surgical facemask and plastic gloves, as Corporate had issued a red alert. She had gone shopping with Virginia before, to learn the process, but entering Food Mart's Grocery Division on her own for the first time was still overwhelming. The colossal establishment seemed much more crowded than usual. Several lines of people wrapped around the different vending booths in confusing and erratic patterns. People pushed their way past one another. Music played over a loud speaker, helping to offset the noise created by so many people trying to speak over one another at once. Occasionally, the music would pause and a pleasant voice would take over the speaker to announce overstock specials, news associate locations, and random Corporate pearls of wisdom.
"Attention, Food-Mart customers," the voice announced. "For today only, the canned meat product booth is having a buy three, get one free sale (limit two free items). And remember, a hard worker is a happy worker. Thank you for shopping at Food-Mart."
Shelley pulled the list from her bag, struggling to orient herself as panic threatened to freeze her where she stood. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and began to look over the items on her list, which she had listed by booth. Virginia had taught her always to go to the inner booths first, leaving the outer booths for last in case a rush came in. Shelly saw the family needed shampoo and would soon run out of dishwashing detergent, so she got in line for the soaps booth.
Food-Mart's grocery division was composed of three dozen large booths, each set with a particular type of inventory. The booths, which consisted of deep, open-backed shelves and bins from which the associates could pull the requested items, were each manned by four to six cashiers. On the other side of the open shelves were shack-sized warehouses, where stock associates would keep a steady line of products coming as quickly as the cashier associates could pull them. The cashier associates wore bright red polo shirts with the words "Food-Mart" printed above their nametags, and khaki pants. The booths each stood at roughly the same size. The uniformity within the massive room was almost dizzying, almost like standing in the center of a very crowded house of mirrors. Shelley found that it brought out the claustrophobe in her.
"Attention, Food-Mart customers: a news associate in Area Three will be beginning broadcast in five minutes," the voice on the intercom reported, and then happily added: "Don't forget the face-masks when you stop by our health and beauty booth. Two-packs are on sale right now for only ten ninety-nine. Thank you for being a Food-Mart shopper!"
The lines moved slowly, but eventually Shelley made it to a register.
The cashier associate was young, probably just eighteen, and she had a smug look on her face. Shelley figured she would be smug, too, if being a Cashier for Food-Mart was the best she could ever do. Shelley felt thankful to have the opportunity to be more than a Mart employee, and then it struck her that her mother's income was what made it possible for both her and her brother to receive their requisite educations.
"What can I get you?" the cashier associate asked.
Shelley double-checked her list and then cleared her throat, afraid that her voice might crack when she spoke. She had never done the actual ordering before. In some strange, egocentric way, she felt on the spot. "Um, I need one dish soap and a large shampoo, please."
"Moisturizing or tearless?" the cashier associate asked.
Shelley looked back at the shelves and realized that she had a small selection from which to choose. "Oh . . . moisturizing."
The associate plucked the two items from their shelves and brought them to her register. Both items had the same grey packaging with the word "Quality" stretched across the top at an angle. The moisturizing shampoo had a picture of a smiling woman sporting a shampoo hair-do. The dish soap had a picture of white dishes and lemon slices. The associate rang up both items using a scanning gun.
Shelley slid George's card through a machine then offered the associate one of her grocery bags. Pleased that she had finished her first transaction, she looked for the battery booth. Kurt had been abusing the bathroom click-light for weeks. He threw tantrums when anyone would try to turn it off, and he became hysterical when the light began to grow dimmer by the hour. He began waking in fearful, crying fits, and as much as Shelley loved her little brother, she was just about ready to lose her mind. Batteries were expensive, but right now, they were necessary for everyone's sake.
The battery line was much shorter than the soap line, but it moved slowly. Shelley saw that they were short a couple of cashier associates, and a manager was busy arguing with a customer over a denied refund. The customer refused to walk away, and the cashier associate standing before him stared quietly with her jaw agape.
Shelley took another deep breath, still struggling to abate her anxiety. Through the corner of her eye, she saw a woman who looked remarkably like Virginia. She turned with a gasp, only to realize her mind had play
ed a cruel trick on her. No one among the crowd looked even remotely like her. She jumped as the loud speaker clicked on.
"Attention, Food-Mart customers: for the next thirty minutes the plastics booth will be discounting all recyclable food containers by ten percent," the voice announced. "And remember, it's the team player who ultimately gets ahead. Food-Mart values your customer loyalty."
Shelley turned and saw Charlotte standing in the cereal line with her mother. Both were wearing what appeared to be designer surgical facemasks, imprinted with pretty designs and a brand logo. Relieved to see her friend, Shelley waved.
Charlotte skipped over to her. "Hey, I thought that was you!"
Shelley nodded, unsure what to say.
"I haven't seen you around, but I heard what happened," Charlotte said. "I'm so sorry."
"Thanks."
The irate customer stormed off and the line began to move a little.
Charlotte's mother called to her, and she turned away for a moment to take a quick glance. "I gotta go. Sorry about . . . everything." She hurried off.
The line moved forward a little more, and Shelley moved a few paces toward the booth. When she finally got to the front of the line, she was met by another smug associate. She frowned as she noticed the batteries were each sold separately. The bathroom light only used one AA at a time, but Shelley knew Kurt would go through them quickly. She thought to buy several, but reconsidered when she saw that they were almost fifteen dollars each. It was no wonder her parents had always been so stingy about that light. "I'll take two AA," she said.
"That's it?" the associate asked.
Shelley nodded. She finished the transaction, putting the batteries in the same bag as the soaps.
"Attention, Food-Mart customers: a news associate in Area Three will be beginning broadcast in less than one minute," the loud speaker voice said. "Don't forget to buy this week's featured item: Quality freeze-dried mashed potato product, a family favorite, on sale all this week for only seven fifty-nine (limit three sale items, total). Thank you for shopping at Food-Mart."
Shelley stopped as she found the news associate over by the canned vegetables booth. There was already a small crowd gathering around him, and Shelley had to push past a few people to get a decent spot. A cashier associate quietly approached her with a wireless scan gun, and she held out her father's debit card for the associate to scan. The short man, who stood on a small platform holding an uncanny resemblance to a soapbox, had just started spouting the tidings for the day.
Shelley listened intently as the associate worked his way from the weather to the more important news: "Another wave of solar panel thefts has swept through the quadroplex, with Districts 89174 and 89148 being hit the hardest. This will be the third series of thefts like it this month. No suspects have been identified, but authorities believe that organized crime is likely to blame. Any questions?" He looked through the crowd. A young woman raised her hand, and he pointed to her.
"Do authorities have any idea what thieves would want with solar panels?" the woman asked.
"They do not," the news associate answered. He glanced up and looked around for a moment in thought, then looked back at the woman. "Some say they might be finding a way to sell them through the black market, though."
There was a small clatter through the crowd as people nodded and murmured to one another over the associate's assessment.
No one else raised their hand, so the news associate continued: "A man was arrested for attempting to bribe his wife's doctor for antibiotics yesterday. His wife, who suffered from Lyme disease, killed herself earlier this morning." He paused for a moment, as if offering the woman a moment for her passing. "Any questions?" he finally asked. He panned the audience with his eyes, searching for hands.
"A deadly virus has killed dozens of residents throughout the quadroplex in just the past two weeks," the news associate continued. "Believed to be a biological weapon in powder form, authorities don't know who is behind its making, but they do know that a deviant terrorist group is randomly infecting humans. Concerned citizens should wear a facemask and plastic gloves while out in public. Any questions?"
Another young woman shot her arm into the air, and the news associate immediately pointed to her.
"What makes authorities suspect deviants?" the woman asked.
"That information is still undisclosed, but Corporate is advising that people avoid second-hand items and protect themselves while out in public," the news associate replied.
Shelley raised her hand. Her heart sped up as the news associate pointed and the crowd stared at her. She took a deep breath. "If deviants are responsible, does anyone know how they got a hold of a biological weapon?" she asked.
"Well. . . ." The news associate took a quick glance over the crowd, and Shelley turned to see if perhaps he was looking over at a teleprompter. Strangely, he seemed to be looking at nothing. She wondered what was over there that he could see and no one else could.
"Police-Corp has a few leads, but they're not disclosing any of them at this time," the associate finally said.
A young man had his hand raised, and the associate pointed to him.
"Can the virus be transferred between people?" he asked.
"They think not, but if you know someone who is sick, make sure you take precautions just in case." The news associate looked over the crowd for more hands before he continued on to tell them about the ever-rising price of electricity, a possible vegetable shortage by the end of the season, and a building collapse in District 89147, causing numerous injuries and substantial property damage.
It took Shelley over two hours to purchase the rest of the items on her list, and her hands were full by the time she got onto the shuttle back to Housing. The rain picked up, but luckily, transportation services continued to move. Shelley's bags grew heavier the longer she held them, but she dared not set them down in fear of someone else quickly claiming them. Luckily, the Line 250 shuttle gave her a direct shot back to Housing and she had only a short walk from the garage. She removed and discarded her mask and gloves as she entered the building.
As she approached her apartment, she noticed that William and Judith stood in the hallway, talking to George. William and Judith were both wearing facemasks and gloves, obviously assuming George was contagious. They had apparently given him a bottle of tequila, and he held the ribbon-decorated bottle close to his body with a protective grip. The group saw Shelley and moved so she could get all of her bags through the door. Tired and cranky, she dropped the bags just past the kitchen door and sat down beside the wall heater.
"Would you like to come in and help me drink this?" George asked William and Judith through the door, scratching at the week-old stubble on his face.
The couple exchanged glances, and then William very politely answered, "No."
"I'm sure you understand," Judith added. "You can't be too careful right now, and with the infection that took Virginia. . . ." Her voice trailed off, and she looked down.
William chimed back in, "We wish you the best. We really do."
George nodded. "Well, thanks for the tequila."
"Come by if there's anything you need," Judith said.
George smiled gratefully. "Will do."
William shrugged as the couple moved to their side of the hall. "What are neighbors for, right?" William opened the door, and they rushed inside, looking terrified that the virus might seek them out if they lingered in the hall any longer.
George closed and locked the door, and then took the bottle of tequila into the kitchen. He pulled a tumbler from the cupboard, poured himself a generous serving of the potent, amber liquid, and then sat down at the table. He took a swig of the drink, coughing lightly as it burned its way down to his stomach.
Shelley watched, curious. "It can't taste that bad."
"Well, you're not going to find out tonight, so don't ask." George took another swig, swallowing hard.
"I wasn't going to," Shelley lied. She got u
p and began putting away the groceries.
George looked terrible. He hadn't slept since he got the news about Virginia, and his hygiene had diminished considerably over the week.
Kurt stormed in. "Took you long enough! I'm starving! When's dinner?"
"I'm going to start it as soon as I'm done putting away the groceries," Shelley said.
"Are we going to have dinner in the dark again?" Kurt's voice rose an octave, the shrill whine pushing Shelley's patience.
She reminded herself that the boy was every bit as scared and confused as she was, so she forced a calm and patient "Maybe."
Kurt stomped his foot. "It's not fair!"
"Go play in your room, Kurt," George said.
"It's getting dark in my room!" Kurt cried.
"Then bring your toys in here. Dinner will be ready in a little while." He grimaced as he swallowed another shot of tequila.
Kurt gave George an angry scowl, but he didn't move.
Shelley dug the batteries out of one of the bags. "Kurt, look what I got for the click-light." She tossed one to him, and he caught it with both hands. "Why don't you change it out while we still have the kitchen light on?"
Kurt left with the battery, his pouty attitude somewhat diffused.
George poured himself another serving of tequila. He noticed that Shelley left out a package of spaghetti and canned sauce. Virginia always made spaghetti on Wednesdays.
Shelley put a pot of water on the stove to boil, then took her school bag to the kitchen table. She had a couple hours of homework still to do, and it would soon be time to turn off the kitchen light. She had the light in the bathroom if she really needed to get her work finished, but at this point, she wasn't sure she had the energy left even to get started. She took a look at her assignments with an overwhelmed sigh, unsure where to start.
Chapter 95
"I CAN'T REMEMBER a thing," George said, his mind a blur and his thoughts confused. He sat in a small room, wearing a Police-Corp-issued jumpsuit. He winced at the pain that drummed in his head as he strained to search his memory. He remembered the earlier part of the night, but not much of it. He had sent both of the kids to bed early, intent on getting as drunk as he possibly could. Beyond that, the details were sketchy.
