The Sound

by James Sperl

  “That logic is flawed,” Andrew said.

  Donna narrowed her eyes but said nothing.

  “Even at a flat pay scale, people will still opt for the “better” jobs over the undesirable ones. Evening out the pay grade won't make anyone want to work those jobs any more than they did before.”

  “Perhaps not. But there's a greater sense of equal value. With the exception of those who possess highly trained skill sets, i.e., doctors, nurses, military, police, et cetera, the vast majority of New Framingham residents work vocations entirely new to them. Everyone's prior experiences are of course taken into consideration when placed for work, but if nothing is a fit, the positions that require filling first are given priority, regardless if you approve of them or not.”

  The baby squirmed in Clarissa's arms. She shifted her from one side of her body to the other then asked, “I think I already know the answer to this, but if someone refuses to work the job assigned to them?”

  Donna hugged her clipboard and dropped her shoulders. “I think you do know. If we had to debate with every person who didn't like their job, we'd never get anything accomplished.” She paused in anticipation of further comments but got none. “So to maximize the community's effectiveness, everyone between the ages of 18 and 70 must work. The Old Navy has been set up as an employment center. Everyone should start there.”

  Rueful glances passed among the group. Donna noticed.

  “It's a shock, I know. Lots of people come here not expecting to have to punch a clock, but after a while, they come to appreciate the routine, the return to a semblance of normalcy.” Donna glanced at her clipboard. “It should also be noted that proof of employment will be required to utilize any and all services.”

  “Proof?” said Rachel. “Like what?”

  “Presentation of a totem.”

  “A totem? I don't understand.”

  “Well, for example, at the moment, waste and garbage employees must present fifty-dollar poker chips as proof of their employment to gain access to any of the community services. Food service currently uses red karabiners, retail, state souvenir key chains. The totems are changed regularly to weed out those who try to cheat the system, which happens on occasion. Punishment, as you might expect, is—”

  “Expulsion,” Rachel and Evan said together.

  “Ha! Jinx, buy me a Coke,” Rachel said, giggling. She gave Evan a lighthearted shove.

  “I think you're starting to get the picture,” Donna said, somewhat pleased.

  Andrew stared at the ground in deep contemplation. Clarissa caught his eye as he looked up and raised her eyebrows at him: Everything okay?

  Andrew leaned into her ear. “I'm not so sure about this,” he said in a subdued tone.

  Clarissa glanced at the people in her group. Nobody appeared to be wise to the conversation. She lifted the baby and used her as a partial shield.

  “I completely understand, but what choice do we have? We've got a lead. We can't wander around forever, always afraid to sleep.” Andrew let his eyes drift to the baby as Clarissa spoke. “We have to give this a chance. If nothing pans out then we'll leave, okay? I promise.”

  Andrew nodded, but it was without conviction. He glanced up and took in his surroundings with mounting reluctance. The thought of commingling, of working—of living—with so many strangers terrified him. In truth, the idea didn't launch any fireworks for Clarissa either. She gripped his hand.

  Donna tucked the clipboard under an arm and clasped her hands behind her back.

  “Here's where folks have the most difficulty,” she said ahead of a deep breath. “There is no personal living space.”

  The reaction was as expected. Rachel blurted an emotionally charged “What?” while Evan moaned and rolled his eyes. Cesare and Jon's expressions complemented one another in their helpless exasperation.

  Things were heading south for Clarissa too. She knew from the onset that New Framingham was not someplace she would choose to call home, but the strict policies and regulations conveyed to her and the others were beginning to stifle her desire for even a temporary residency.

  Rosenstein, you had better be here.

  Donna was undeterred by the show of displeasure.

  “Believe me, I understand. The concept of hot-bunking takes some getting used to, but everyone adjusts. When you need to sleep, head to the Sleep Zone. You will be given a number upon arrival. Once your number is called, you will have seven hours in your designated space. Bedding and sleep peripherals are your responsibility, and you must take everything with you when you leave.”

  “It sounds heavenly,” Elenora quipped.

  “I won't lie. If you're predisposed to silence and darkness while you sleep, as most of us are, transitioning to the bright and relatively noisy environment of the Sleep Zone will take time.” Donna passed her eyes over the group. “But you will sleep. More than that, you will wake up. Guards are stationed on all of the store rooftops, and even more move through the sleep field, so a safe night's rest is virtually guaranteed.”

  “I heard that people still disappear from here,” Andrew said. “Quite a few, in fact.”

  Clarissa tried not to react, but Andrew's pointed statement threw a blanket of tension over the orientation. Donna regarded him with kept patience. Something in the way she angled her head at him told Clarissa this was not the first time she'd had to respond to the accusation.

  “It's always an unfortunate incident when someone leaves our community against their wishes, but of course there are instances. People who fall asleep away from the group, either here or outside the community. It's tragic, but it can't always be helped.”

  “What are you going to do about sleeping arrangements once winter arrives?” said Jon. “Soon—very soon, in fact—people won't be able to sleep outside.”

  “We're already making arrangements,” Donna said to Jon, though she focused on Andrew. She looked away after a moment, but the prolonged stare left an uneasy feeling in the pit of Clarissa's stomach. She was certain she wasn't the only one who saw it, and she started to wonder if Donna had seen fit to do that on purpose. Was the look a subtle warning? If so, Clarissa wanted to know how she backed it up.

  “Natick Mall to the East is our best option,” Donna continued, “It's got the space, but it will be a nightmare—both logistically and strategically—to accommodate so many people. We have teams working on it now.”

  The baby yelped. Clarissa eased a pacifier into its mouth, but she was resistant. It had taken three attempts before she accepted it.

  “Probably getting hungry,” she said. Then to Donna: “The guard told us that we'd be able to get our stuff once we got inside?”

  “Mm, yes. Lowe's handles all personal effects. Once you have your ID card and resident number you can head over there and request your items. Each incoming group is assigned a designated space, so anytime you need to store or acquire something, Lowe's will be where you do it.”

  “Everybody's stuff is over there?” Evan said. “Like, sitting on a shelf out in the open?”

  “Yes.”

  “What if somebody steals something?”

  “Theft in here is lower statistically than it was in most major cities before the Sound. In fact, it's almost a non-issue. I suspect that's because no one wants to risk being cast out.”

  “Who's in charge in here?” Andrew asked.

  His question elicited a glare from Donna that smoothed into stone-faced tolerance.

  “There is no figurehead in New Framingham. Instead, we have a board of directors, who are responsible for writing and implementing laws. Many laws are the same as they've always been, with a few minor alterations to adjust for the time we live in.”

  “And law enforcement?” Jon asked. “Clearly, you have a force. How's that work?”

  “Great question. Many of the men and women you see in uniform holding weapons were either servicemen or worked in law enforcement in some capacity. Their duties are what you might expect from your
average police force with the exception that they do not make arrests, as we do not have a jail.”

  “No jail? So what do you do when someone breaks the law?”

  “We have a detainment center, and all affected parties are held there until they can plead their case to the Board, which usually happens fairly swiftly. There are no lawyers or representatives. Each person argues for him- or herself. Once heard, a decision is made, and if a guilty verdict is reached, immediate expulsion is the sentence.”

  “Not exactly a faultless system,” Andrew said.

  Donna looked at him sharply. “As opposed to how it was before? With rampant corruption, mishandling of evidence, and cases that took so long to make it to trial that facts and eyewitness testimonies were dubious at best by the time cases began? With our system, not only are issues resolved efficiently, but the punishment is so severe that no one wants to risk ending up before the Board. More than that, there is a deep respect for our security force. Currently, we have over 240 members, and that number is growing. We're also developing a training program to recruit new members who may not have had prior experience. Security is one of our primary concerns.”

  Clarissa placed the baby over her shoulder, but she grew fussy. Elenora wasted no time in reaching for her.

  “Hand that ragamuffin to me.”

  “Thanks, El,” Clarissa said, passing off the baby before she faced Donna again. “Donna, how many people are there in New Framingham?”

  Donna didn't pause to think about it. “By the last count, I believe we're just shy of 5,700 residents.”

  “There're almost 6,000 people here?” Rachel said, her eyes wide with astonishment. “Oh my God, that sounds like so many.”

  “It does seem that way,” Donna replied. “But when you consider that the population of the surrounding city of Framingham was around 70,000, by contrast, our numbers are rather modest.”

  Silence hung in the air, as Donna met the overwhelmed gazes of everyone in front of her.

  “I know this a lot, and I know you all have questions I haven't addressed.”

  “Only about a thousand or so,” Jon said, garnering a laugh.

  “I'm sure. The transition's not an easy one, but it does pay off. The fact that you're here is a good start. It tells me that you long for order and stability over the alternative chaos of out there. We have that. This I promise. It's not always wonderful, and there are occasional disputes, but I can honestly say it's one of the safest places I've ever lived, even before the Sound. Don't worry. You'll adapt. Now, if you'll all follow—”

  “Actually, I have another question,” Clarissa said.

  “Yes?”

  “Where is Rosenstein?”

  Even though it was the primary reason for her and the others to be at New Framingham, the question came from out of a hidden place in the corner of her mind. Something about Donna's disposition prevented Clarissa from asking about it earlier, but before she knew what she was saying, it was out there.

  Donna pinched her lips into a barely there grin.

  “Rosenstein? I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean.”

  Clarissa swallowed and battled against a nervousness she couldn't explain. “Yes, the scientific research and development company. We were told it, or at least a part of it, relocated here from Ashland.”

  Donna frowned and searched the sky in thought. Clarissa thought it appeared feigned. “I don't...I mean, yes, I've heard of them, but I don't know anything about them being here.”

  “How have you heard of them?” Andrew said, boring a hole into Donna with his eyes.

  Donna shrugged indifferently. “The way people hear things. People talk, share stories, theories. I'm sure I heard about this Rosenstein place through some of our residents.”

  Clarissa pressed on. “We heard they were the ones that sent buses to Ashland to bring people here.”

  “Hmm. I wouldn't know about that. If they did, it happened before I got here. People arrive by any number of means of conveyance. But buses?” She shook her head. “That's not ringing a bell.”

  “Ms. Quinlin?” A guard trotted over. He regarded Clarissa and her group before he spoke. “You have a call.”

  Donna's brows flat-lined, as she reached for something on her hip. She came back with a walkie-talkie. “Damn thing. Thought I'd turned it back on.” She clicked on the power and held the radio out. “Donna here.”

  “Donna!” a man's voice crackled. “Where the hell've you been? I've been trying to reach you for the past fifteen minutes.”

  “I'm at in-processing.”

  “We've got a situation.”

  Donna gave Clarissa and the others an impatient sideways glance. She stepped away, dug into her pocket, and produced an earpiece. Jacking it into the radio, she fitted the receiver into her ear and resumed her conversation.

  “What's going on?”

  She listened, saying nothing for a solid thirty seconds until she finally uttered, “I'll be right there.”

  “Everything all right?” asked Andrew, as Donna returned to the group and fastened the radio to her hip.

  That plastic smile again. “Just fine. Apparently, we have a dispute among the warehouse workers that requires a bit of, how shall I say it...finessing. I apologize, but I have to go. Continue over to reception, and they'll process you for admittance. Then you can head over to Lowe's to check on your personal items if you like.” Donna straightened and adjusted her navy blue pantsuit jacket. “It was a pleasure meeting you all. I hope you find New Framingham a suitable new beginning.”

  With that, she peeled away, but not before she delivered Andrew a brief but intense glare. She walked briskly over to an awaiting sedan, which had just pulled up, and climbed in. The car accelerated rapidly away, leaving a trailing cloud of dust.

  “Well,” Rachel said, “she seems nice.”

  “I know, right?” Clarissa said with a chuckle. She looked at Andrew and nudged him. “And she sure wasn't pleased with the things you were asking. I wouldn't be expecting any Christmas cards from her if I were you.”

  Andrew huffed. “Liars usually aren't too pleased when confronted.”

  “Liar?” Elenora said as she nuzzled the baby. “What did she lie about? I thought Donna was rather pleasant considering how often she must have to endure people's foul moods and scrutiny. Her answer about Rosenstein seemed legitimate to me.”

  “El's got a point, Andrew,” said Clarissa. “Could we be looking too hard at this place? As in, do we just really want Rosenstein to be here when it might not be? Don't get me wrong. I liked Zane and Darlene, but they may not be the most trustworthy sources. I don't know.” She stepped around the Big Board and peered into the distance, where people buzzed with activity inside New Framingham.

  “I'm kind of thinking the same thing,” added Rachel, who slipped casually beside Cesare. “Even if Donna came across a bit frosty or insincere at times, this place has got to be doing something right to have so many people here, doesn't it? I'm just saying...if Rosenstein turns out to be a bust, could it be so bad here?”

  The question lingered and went unanswered. Mostly, Clarissa suspected, because no one had the first clue how to respond. On the surface, New Framingham seemed to have immense possibility: Paying jobs? Socialization? Safety? The chance to start a new life? Granted, it had only been a few months since things fell apart, but Clarissa missed the mundane rituals of everyday living something fierce. She thought the others felt the same way. In fact, who among them wouldn't prefer a permanent address to moving from place to place?

  The answer, of course, was Andrew.

  His skepticism was outmatched only by his cynicism. She wondered if he would ever come to trust people enough to live with them again.

  “Whether this place is good or bad can only be speculated,” Jon said, crossing his arms and staring intently into the bustling community. “But there's one thing I can tell you all for sure: I'm with Andrew. That woman is lying.”

  Eyes flicked to him
in anticipation of an explanation.

  “I may have only been a communications specialist during the war, but I had a few buddies who were skilled in the art of interrogation. They taught me a few things. Namely, how to spot tells when a person is less than truthful.” Jon faced his friends. “Ms. Quinlin set off a whole host of red flags when we asked her about Rosenstein.”

  Clarissa took a step forward. “Are you saying you think Rosenstein's here?”

  Jon answered without pause. “Not only do I think it's here,” he said. “I think Donna Quinlin knows precisely where.”

  CHAPTER 48

  The group made Lowe's the first stop. They had queued for nearly two hours before finally reaching the head of the line. Though the wait was long, everyone felt it was a prudent move. Not only did each person want to retrieve his or her personal belongings, but the visit would be a good introduction into the meticulously organized and rigidly planned world they had agreed to join.

  The personal storage facility, or PSF, as it was referred to—Clarissa would still just call it Lowe's—was a well-oiled machine. Checkout lanes had been reverse-engineered to accommodate lines of people that formed in the opposite direction: where customers once exited, folks eager to access their belongings now lined up. By Clarissa's count, eleven PSF receptionists were open for business.

  The store's massive transformation was a sight to behold. Shelves once stocked with home improvement supplies were now empty. Instead, row after row of partitioned spaces were packed to the gills with personal items, all of which were stored by any number of methods—plastic bins, garbage bags, suitcases, cardboard boxes. Someone had even used a dog kennel.

  Cherry pickers and forklifts retrofitted with railed platforms rolled listlessly up and down the aisles. Operators raised individuals to their preassigned spaces overhead while those fortunate enough to have spots at ground level crouched in front of their belongings.