by Mark Tufo
Virginia thought about the old headlines addressing the state of the world, how the weather was able to deliver the finishing blow disease could not, how only Corporate knew that probably ninety-nine percent of the population had been wiped out, and that stockpiles were running low but nothing was being done to increase current resources. The little that was left of society was being run by madmen, Virginia realized, and she had to wonder, with her new deviant mind, if she would have been as capable of understanding the severity of the situation had she still been human. If humanity couldn't save itself, then perhaps it was time to see what kind of job deviants could do.
She needed to get back to Ray, to relay to him as many of Corporate's headlines as she could remember. Likely, his intelligence already had most of the older information, but the development of HD-1a was relatively recent, and Virginia feared that Corporate might have plans to initiate a mass-release of the new virus very soon.
She thought about the long walk from the Line 320 shuttle to District 89148, knowing that the current weather conditions would make it close to impossible to cross the expanse, especially given her limited wardrobe. For the time being, it seemed that she was trapped.
Virginia heard a scream come from upstairs. Too afraid to investigate, she stayed where she was, quietly listening.
"How could you?" Mrs. Conrad cried.
"I was just curious!" he pleaded. "You have to believe me! It's not what you think!"
"And what do I think?"
Mr. Conrad stammered, skipping through a few unconnected words before going silent. Finally, he cried, "I love you! You know I love you!"
There was the deafening sound of gunfire, three consecutive shots. Nadine screamed.
"Do you have any last words, before I blow your brains out too? Maybe an apology for soiling my husband's body with your vile, filthy, disease-ridden touch?" Mrs. Conrad yelled.
"I'm sorry!" Nadine cried. "Please don't kill me!"
Virginia winced at the sound of another shot, followed by the thump of a body collapsing onto the hard tile. Footsteps stormed up to the basement door, and it flung open. Leaving the light off, the steps creaking beneath her shaky feet, Mrs. Conrad slowly made her way to the basement.
Virginia scurried beneath the staircase, hoping the shadows would offer her more complete cover. She watched from below while Mrs. Conrad eyed the empty cots then frantically turned around to survey the room.
"Virginia?" Mrs. Conrad called, her voice tense. She shivered as the cold basement air bit at her pampered skin.
Virginia struggled to control her panicked breathing, sure Mrs. Conrad could hear her. Her heart beat so hard she thought Mrs. Conrad might be able to hear that, too, and she stared through the shadows, hoping that, by some miracle, she might not be detected.
Mrs. Conrad began to check every possible hiding spot within the room, starting with the laundry area, then the bathroom and kitchenette, and then the staircase. Virginia looked around for a potential weapon as Mrs. Conrad slowly approached her.
"Peek-a-boo!" Mrs. Conrad said, Virginia becoming just visible as her eyes better adjusted to the dark room.
Knowing she would only have one chance, Virginia made a desperate dive for Mrs. Conrad's legs, knocking the woman to the ground. The gun went off, and the heavy kickback knocked it from Mrs. Conrad's unprepared hand as her head hit the concrete. She fell against it with a considerable amount of force, and she fell unconscious with an angry grunt. Virginia backed away, watching the woman for a few horrified seconds, and then hurried up the staircase. She locked the door, unsure whether Mrs. Conrad was dead or still alive, but not planning to stay long enough to find out.
She ran to the front door and flung it open, quickly closing it as a gust of cold air rushed in. She looked around, frozen in indecision for a moment, and then ran up the staircase to grab a jacket from Mrs. Conrad's closet. She opened the bedroom door, and the little dog came running up to her, sniffing and barking. No longer caring whether the creature got loose, she left the door open and found Mrs. Conrad's closet. It was as large as Virginia's entire apartment, with a whole row dedicated to heavy jackets and boots. Every piece was tailored to perfection, many of them sporting heavy animal pelts, exquisite jeweled buttons, and matching accessories such as necklaces, hats, and scarves.
Virginia grabbed a long, heavy coat, which came with a matching hat and pair of boots. She covered her nose and mouth with a thick, cream-colored scarf, and then snagged a pair of dark, black-rimmed sunglasses on her way out. She found Mrs. Conrad's current purse and rifled through it, pulling out her shuttle pass while she descended the staircase to the foyer. She got to the front door just as Mrs. Conrad regained consciousness and tried the locked basement door.
"Let me out, you dumb-eyed bitch!" With an angry cry, Mrs. Conrad began to shoot at the lock.
Virginia hurried off, dashing for the shuttle hub. Seeing no shuttles approaching from either side, she chose a direction and simply began to run. She could find her way back to Ray, she rationalized, as soon as she was beyond the range of Mrs. Conrad's gun. She hurried down the road as far as her legs could take her, terrified that at any moment she might glance behind her and find Mrs. Conrad taking aim.
Mrs. Conrad emptied her remaining bullets into the lock, finally getting it to crack. She yanked open the door and looked around, jumping with a start as her tiny poodle came running up to her, looking for attention. She picked up the dog and gave the house a quick search, although she was already certain that Virginia was gone.
She went to the office she had shared with Mr. Conrad and booted up the main computer. She logged onto the Internet and sent a quick note to the rest of the Corporate community:
* * *
Header: HD-1a Dispersal Proposal
Security Clearance: Red
Body Text: The deviant resistance group is planning a massive strike, which could potentially result in Corporate take-over. Mr. Conrad has already fallen victim. They shot him in the head. I fear for my life. I have uncovered plans for the assassination of every other top Corporate official, as well, but I cannot pinpoint all of the individuals involved. I propose Corporate begin the paperwork necessary to begin dispersal of HD-1a, taking a proactive approach before it is too late.
* * *
Mrs. Conrad sent the letter to everyone on the Red Clearance List, then sat back for a moment with a twisted smile. She returned to the bedroom, carrying the revolver over to Mr. Conrad's side of the bed, ignoring the dog as it jumped up and begged her for attention. She sat down, opening the nightstand and digging around for the box of spare bullets. She loaded one bullet, and then took a deep breath as she pulled back the hammer. She closed her eyes tightly, taking aim, her trigger hand amazingly calm. The sound of the explosion struck her ear as a hot, stabbing pain lashed through her right temple, but the pain and ringing only lasted for mere seconds before she collapsed, senseless and still.
The poodle yipped at the loud sound, running out of the room for a moment. A heavy ringing sieved through the otherwise complete silence. The little dog pulled her tail tightly between her legs, slowly padding back into the bedroom. Mrs. Conrad's body slumped awkwardly against her husband's pillow, the smoking gun still in her hand, the hot barrel resting against her expensive pantsuit. The little dog didn't know what to make of the sight, and so she curled up on the bed beside the pair of twitching feet.
Chapter 109
GEORGE SLOWLY CAME TO, unsure of where he was. He lay on the ground, with a flat pillow beneath his head and a worn quilt over his sweat-glazed body. He appeared to be in a teepee, although he wasn't exactly sure how that could be. The area was warm, with a fire pit in the center and a hole in the top of the cone-shaped ceiling for the smoke. A small cauldron sat strategically arranged over the fire, and a dark brown soup boiled and spat within. George couldn't decide whether it smelled good or disgusting, and he repeatedly sniffed the air to reassess his indifference. His stomach growled heavily just the same
.
He sat up, noticing two deviants sitting across from the fire. Presumably husband and wife, they were probably in their mid-thirties, although their hands and faces were worn far beyond their years. They wore rags, and both of them kept their greasy hair unusually short. They seemed deeply engaged in a game of chess, using random household objects as the pieces and an old checkerboard they'd clearly dug up from the trash. The wife was the first to notice George was awake, and they both got to their feet as she motioned the news to her husband.
The two slowly approached George, keeping their distance until they could assess his character.
George tried to stand, but his body felt as if it had been hit by a shuttle. Every muscle hurt, his head pounded, and his extremities felt like they were on fire. He sat back, unsure of his company, but unable to do much about it for the moment.
The woman fetched a water jug and offered it to George. "You must be thirsty."
George was hesitant, but his mouth was so dry his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He stared longingly at the jug for a moment, and then decided that he didn't care what type of poison or disease was in it. He snatched it from the woman and drank quickly, choking as he tried to swallow too much at once.
"I'm Joseph, and this is my wife, Amy," the man said. "We heard your call for help. By the looks of things, I'd say we found you just in time. You fell into a fever, and—"
"My eyes!" George tried to get up again, opting instead to lean in toward the two. "What color are my eyes?" he asked desperately.
"Brown," Joseph said, confused.
George sat back, relieved.
Joseph and Amy exchanged glances.
"Maybe the fever hasn't quite broken?" Amy asked.
Joseph shrugged.
George looked around, wondering how far the couple had traveled to drag him out of the trash piles. They had to be near the dump. Given the cold and the wind, his call for help couldn't have traveled beyond the pile he had attempted to climb, and he noticed he was surrounded by a strange mixture of clutter. While trash seemed piled around them on all sides, with boxes and bags lined up along the walls, there were also stacks of books, discarded paintings, and a small telescope. "Where am I?" he asked.
Joseph and Amy exchanged another quick look.
"This is our home," Joseph said. "You're welcome to stay here until the weather's cleared."
George closed his eyes. "I was in the dump."
A large, grey rat emerged from a crack in the wall near the floor, and Amy quickly spotted it. "We could use another rat, Joseph! Quick!"
Joseph grabbed a nearby slingshot and fired a rock straight into the animal's head. Amy grabbed the rat by the tail and threw it over the fire to singe off its wiry hair.
George watched in disgust.
Amy pulled the blackened carcass from the fire and began to scrape off the remaining hair. She wiped the body down, ensuring that it was clean, and then cut up the meat and organs into fine cubes. She added the meat to her soup, then stirred it well. "It'll be a few more minutes now," she said apologetically.
"You eat rats?" George asked, coughing his disapproval.
"You don't like rat?" Amy asked. "Why didn't you say something before I put it in the soup?"
George shook his head, not having a suitable answer.
"We were playing chess," Joseph said, intentionally changing the subject. "Do you play?"
George and Virginia had used to play chess often back when it was just the two of them. It was a decent enough way to pass the time, and it was engaging enough to take over for a while when the conversation went flat. Virginia and George hadn't played in a decade, but still just the thought of contemplating his various possible strategies sent images of Virginia's face to the forefront of his mind. "I'm not very good," he said with a shrug.
"I'm sure you're being modest," Joseph said. He returned to the chessboard and stared at the remaining pieces.
George found his bag close by, and he remembered the picture he had packed. "I'm looking for someone." He pulled the framed picture from a pocket and faced it toward Joseph and Amy. "She looks like this . . . only she might have deviant eyes now."
Joseph and Amy both got back up to look at the picture, confused even more about the eyes. Neither recognized the face, and they both shook their heads apologetically.
"She's very pretty," Amy said.
George gave her a pained smile, and then he tucked the photo back into his bag. "She's been missing since she left the hospital last week," he said, still trying to convince that small remaining slice of doubt inside him that she was still, indeed, alive.
"I hope you find her," Amy said, moving to stir the soup. She looked at the meat cooking in it and decided it could go a little longer.
Joseph and Amy returned to their game, and Joseph won after only two more turns.
"Cheater!" she joked.
"Is that a challenge for a rematch?" he asked.
George sat up straight, his heart suddenly pounding. "What day is it?" he asked.
Joseph and Amy each looked to the other for an answer, neither knowing.
George stared back for a moment, dumbfounded that the couple didn't know something as simple as the day.
"Are you okay?" Amy asked, alarmed by George's quick change in behavior.
"I have to get back! My kids! What if I already missed work?" George cried, panic rushing through him. He got to his feet and began to walk across the room, and then stopped and bent over, shaky and exhausted.
"I'm sure they'll understand," Joseph said. "You had a terrible fever."
"Yeah, that was my excuse last week," George muttered, feeling nauseous.
"Sit down and have some soup. You can eat around the rat meat," Amy said, going to the cauldron and giving it one last good stir. She ladled the dark soup into three bowls, making sure the men both got hearty servings.
George stirred his soup with his spoon, still not sure whether it smelled like something he would want to eat. Nothing but the rat meat was identifiable. "What else is in it?" he finally asked.
Amy shrugged, noting George's finicky palate. "A little of this, a little of that. It'll give you your strength back."
George watched Joseph and Amy eat the soup with no hesitations. Too hungry to pass on the meal, he tried a sip of the brown broth. It wasn't great, but it wasn't terrible, either. "Not bad," he said.
"Try it with a piece of meat," Joseph said.
Amy beamed.
Suddenly worrying over whether he was being a courteous guest, George tried the soup with a small cut of meat. He chewed slowly at first, and then gave Amy a satisfied smile. "Tastes like chicken."
"I've never tried chicken. I'm sure it's good, though, if it's anything like rat," Amy said, smiling back.
"It's better than rat," George said, and then chuckled at the sound of himself discussing the taste of rat.
Joseph went to the door and cracked it open. A few items of trash piled in from above as he peeked out, along with a bit of snow. He kicked them aside, notably unconcerned over their presence. "The storm still hasn't returned," he observed. "Looks like some of the snow is beginning to melt."
The stench of the trash piles came pouring in, and George realized that they were sitting inside one of the enormous piles. He took another look at his soup, and suddenly had to wonder where Amy had gotten all of her ingredients. His stomach going sour, he set down his bowl and pushed it away.
Joseph closed the door with a shiver. "It's still colder than hell out. Best to wait another day before making another attempt across to the market." He returned to his soup, noticing that George appeared to be finished. "Full already?"
George nodded. "You said there's a market on the other side? A deviant market?"
Joseph nodded. "I can take you there tomorrow as long as the weather holds up. We don't need the two of us getting snowed in on the way. Poor Amy would have one hell of a time dragging the both of us back to the fire," he said, turning and gi
ving Amy a quick smile and wink.
George considered the offer, although a nagging thought in the back of his head told him that he was a fool not to be on his way home already, despite the persisting cold. Job abandonment was a serious offense, and the longer he waited, the more serious the repercussions would be when he did finally return. He wished he had at least some idea of what day it was.
He considered the repercussions that potentially existed if he did end his search for Virginia, knowing he might not be able summon up the energy or the courage to travel the district like this again. If he went back home, chances were he would return to the monotony of his job, lose himself trying to provide for his kids, and eventually give up on the idea that she was ever out there to begin with.
If he turned around now, everything he had gone through to get this far would all be for naught. Perhaps it was all for naught anyway, but he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he gave up without trying to find her.
George turned to Joseph and nodded his gratitude. "Thanks. I'll take you up on that."
Chapter 110
SHELLEY MOVED through the crowds of people assembling in the church's main lobby. Organ music played softly through loud speakers placed throughout the large area, and the acoustics created by the marble floor and vaulted ceilings caused the music to reverberate with an ethereal intensity. The lines to the registration consoles began to pick up and Shelley hurried outside, hoping no one important had seen her.
Shelly registered the family, solely to remove the threat of worship associates coming to their apartment that evening. They often came conveniently around dinnertime, wanting to know why the family had missed their services, never failing to invite themselves to whatever happened to be on the dinner table. It was best to keep the family on a low profile right now, given the circumstances.
The cold air hit her as she stepped outside. Sunlight broke through small gaps between the clouds, but it was not enough to take the chill away. The snow still stood several feet in most areas, and as a result, foot traffic was temporarily restricted to enclosed walkways. Luckily, most of the Sunday shuttles were running, some of them even on time, or services likely would have been canceled.
