The Complete Makanza Series: Books 0-4

by Krista Street

  He still didn’t say anything, but I thought his eyes rolled.

  Sergeant Rose chuckled. “Did I mention he’s stubborn?”

  I sighed. “I’d already figured that out.” I waited a few minutes and then tried again. “I’d like to tell you more about our new theory. Would that be all right?”

  Davin simply turned a page in the paper.

  “As I was telling you yesterday, the Compounds in Washington state, Compounds 10 and 11, have made a startling discovery about Makanza. They’ve learned the virus is more stable when it’s removed in positive circumstances. It’s related to mind-body genomics.”

  Davin turned another page.

  “The Director of our Compound, Dr. Sadowsky, is hoping to learn what reaction the virus has when it’s removed using close contact, human to human contact. That’s why Dr. Roberts had me enter your cell yesterday.”

  At the mention of Dr. Roberts, Davin’s face tightened, but he still didn’t say anything.

  “I’d like to enter your cell again, Davin, but I won’t unless you tell me it’s all right.” I thought that would get a reaction from him, but all he did was put down the paper and turn on the news.

  I leaned back on the stool, my finger leaving the button. Sergeant Rose cleared his throat awkwardly. I could tell he didn’t want to highlight how spectacularly I was failing, but it was hard not to notice.

  “He likes word puzzles,” Sergeant Rose suggested. “Maybe if you brought him some new ones, he’d be more likely to talk.”

  Word puzzles? It was worth a try.

  I pushed the button again. “Davin, would you like me to bring you some new word puzzles? Or new books you haven’t read?” It seemed like a rather condescending question, like I was trying to bribe a kid with candy, but I had to start somewhere. Anything to get him talking.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t work. That question got an annoyed look, exactly as I’d feared, as if I was treating him like a bribed child.

  Sergeant Rose shrugged. “Sorry, that wasn’t much help.”

  I smiled encouragingly. “It was worth a try. Do you have any other ideas?”

  “He also enjoys movies. Maybe we could get him a DVD player?”

  I hesitated, trying to figure out how to word my reply tactfully. Sergeant Rose only had good intentions. “Well, I’m hoping to get him talking without bribing him. I don’t want him to feel like I’m treating him like a child.”

  Sergeant Rose actually blushed. “Oh, right. That makes sense.”

  “But keep telling me your ideas. I need all the help I can get.”

  “Will do.”

  I leaned back down to the microphone, opting for a more direct route. “Would it be all right with you if I enter your cell again, right now?”

  Nothing.

  Sergeant Rose looked sheepish. “I did warn you he was stubborn, right?”

  I sighed. “Yes.”

  I SPENT THE next hour trying different angles to get Davin’s attention or to bridge the distance between us. I tried all of the techniques I read about but failed time and time again. I was either met with stoic silence or an icy stare. I counted the icy stares as victories.

  At least, he’d looked at me.

  When seven in the morning rolled around, I called it quits. It felt like I’d been interrogating him for hours with nothing to show for it. If I continued, I’d probably just annoy him further.

  Davin had moved from his bed to his desk at some point in the last twenty minutes. I couldn’t tell what he was doing since his back was to me. Regardless, I still said, “Thank you for your time today, Davin. I’ll be back again tomorrow morning. If there’s anything you think of that you’d like to talk about, you can tell me then.”

  “Right.”

  The comment was muttered sarcastically.

  Startled, I stared at him. He was still bent over his desk, his broad shoulders straining against his t-shirt. I glanced at Sergeant Rose.

  The guard was grinning. “At least he replied to something.”

  I guess I hadn’t imagined Davin’s response after all. I turned to hide my smile.

  One day down, twenty-nine to go.

  14 – PTSD

  Since I arrived at the lab a little before eight, I beat everybody else in. Thankfully, that meant nobody knew where I’d been.

  I spent the morning working, but it was hard to concentrate. I kept wondering how I would get through to Davin. Two days in a row, I’d struck out.

  Around noon, Amy approached. “Lunch?”

  I sighed. It’s not like I was getting much done. “Sure.”

  After lunch, we returned to the lab. My breath stopped when I saw who waited for me.

  Dr. Roberts.

  He stood ramrod straight by my lab bench, dressed in his usual cargo gear, the picture of military perfection.

  “Dr. Forester.” He spoke in clipped tones. “Are you ready to speak with Davin today?”

  I bit my lip. I’d known this was coming. “I already have.”

  He frowned. “Excuse me?”

  I clasped my hands tighter. “I already saw Davin today. I went in first thing this morning since I know how important it is to obtain a sample as quickly as possible. I didn’t want to waste any time.”

  His eyes turned glacial. “You did this without telling me?”

  I shuffled my feet. “Yes.”

  “Well, did you get a sample?”

  I wanted to roll my eyes. Seriously? “No. Not yet anyway, but Davin talked willingly to me again.” So technically that was a white lie, but it was partially true.

  “Hmm.” The momentary anger in his eyes vanished. “And you plan to do this every day?”

  I felt, rather than saw, Amy, Mitch, and Charlie approach behind me. “Yes, unless you have an objection. I feel like I’ve already made progress.”

  His hard gaze studied me. I had no idea what swirled in his mind behind those irises. “I suppose that’s fine,” he finally replied. “However, if anything changes in his behavior, I want to know immediately. Is that clear?”

  I nodded and added, “Yes, sir,” for good measure.

  With that, Dr. Roberts marched out of the lab.

  When he was gone, all three of my colleagues swarmed around me. “You already went into Davin’s cell this morning?” Amy asked.

  “I talked to him.” I hoped she wouldn’t notice that I avoided her question.

  “What did he say?” Mitch’s cologne wafted to me as he stepped closer.

  I shrugged, my stomach flipping now that I’d become the center of attention. “Not much, but he didn’t break any furniture.”

  Mitch and Charlie both chuckled.

  “Keep it up, Forester.” Mitch clapped me on the back. Both guys returned to their work stations, but Amy lingered at my side.

  “What?” I tucked my hair behind my ears, but then made myself stop fidgeting.

  She just watched me with her head cocked. “There’s something different about you.”

  I turned toward my bench, pretending to get to work. “What do you mean?”

  She was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know. You just seem more sure of yourself lately.”

  I laughed softly, hoping she wouldn’t see the sheen of sweat that erupted across my forehead.

  I BEGAN THE evening at home similar to the one before. Reading, reading, and more reading. It wasn’t as easy to concentrate. I kept thinking about Davin and the other Kazzies.

  I speed-read through the latest group of articles I’d checked out from the library. Most of them were on PTSD. They were grim, highlighting how severe PTSD could be a psychiatric disorder. I hadn’t seen evidence of that in Davin. Not yet anyway. He slept soundly. He ate. The only sign of psychological trauma was his intense rage. But that rage, according to Amy, was something he rarely showed. Normally, he was very controlled. But still . . .

  Is he really as resilient as everyone thinks?

  I tried to shrug those thoughts off and consume myself with w
ork, but no matter what I did, images of Davin kept working their way into my mind. Like a persistent solicitor who kept knocking on the doorstep.

  Davin’s image readily appeared every time I thought about him. His cold stare, his lofty indifference. The way his muscles rippled in his back when he climbed out of bed.

  I dropped the magazine I was reading. His rippling muscles? Really, Meghan?

  I jumped from my living room floor and jogged to my bedroom. I threw on my running clothes faster than I ever had. A few steps later, I was out of my apartment.

  The streets were quiet. The air cold. Within minutes, I’d set my pace. The only sound was the rhythmic slapping of my shoes on the pavement and my rough exhales as I ran on the road. Every now and then, a car would pass, otherwise, it was silent.

  At this time, most families were sitting down for a supper of carefully measured rations. As for me, when I wasn’t holed up in my apartment reading research, I was usually going for a run. Sometimes that was hard. Curfew got earlier and earlier as winter approached. I checked my watch. I only had an hour before I needed to return to my apartment.

  I’d started running six years ago as a way to cope with all that was happening. Running helped clear my head and allowed me to just . . . be. When I ran, I felt still. Quiet. The irony wasn’t lost on me. Regardless, tonight I needed the peace that running evoked.

  I was thinking about Davin more than I should.

  I returned to my apartment just before 7:30 p.m. One of my neighbors was getting her mail when I entered. Ameena was one of the few apartment residents I occasionally interacted with.

  “Hi, Meghan.” She locked her mail cubby and stuffed the key in her pocket. “How was your run?”

  Rivulets of sweat trailed down my temples. “Pretty good.”

  “It’s getting cold out there. My mother’s already complaining about it.”

  I smiled. Ameena’s mother had grown up in India, when India was still an alive and functioning country before the First Wave. She had only moved to South Dakota fifteen years ago. She swore she’d never get used to the winters.

  “Are you two doing all right?” I put my hands on my hips as my breathing calmed more.

  “Oh, yes, we’re just fine, couldn’t be better.” Her smile was big.

  Too big.

  Ameena’s mother had a permanent injury from an accident several years ago, and Ameena cared full-time for her. I knew she struggled at times although she was too proud to say it. And despite claiming they were fine, her thin face spoke otherwise. I knew she was either giving her mother most of her food portions or the stress was getting to her.

  “You know I’ve been meaning to stop by.” I wiped sweat from my forehead. “I’ve got a whole loaf of bread that’s going to mold and there’s no room in my freezer. Would you take it? I’ll just have to throw it out otherwise. I don’t want to waste it.”

  Ameena frowned. “Can’t you find some use for it?”

  I shook my head. “I’m so busy at work right now. A lot of times, I’m not even home. Some of my fruits and vegetables are spoiling too.”

  Ameena’s mouth dropped. Food was such a precious commodity. Nothing in our society went to waste.

  “Will you take it?” I asked. “Please? I don’t want to throw it out.”

  She sighed. “All right, only to keep it from going to waste.”

  “I’ll bring it over after I shower.”

  “Sure.” She stuffed her mail under her arm and strolled down the hall.

  I managed to shower, drop off the food to Ameena, and have dinner in my apartment without once thinking about Davin. That all changed when I climbed into bed. In my darkened room, with the moon shining through the window, his face swam in my mind. As much as I tried to stop it, I couldn’t.

  He dominated my thoughts.

  I told myself it was purely because I was working so closely with him now. It was only natural to think of him. Still, it was unnerving how easily every detail of his face appeared, his features etched into my memory. Those bright, blue eyes that almost glowed. The proud nose and cheekbones. Dark hair that curled around his ears. His broad shoulders and well-defined muscles.

  My breath caught. Meghan, seriously! Stop!

  I did my best, but it was hard. I buried myself under my covers and tried to sleep, but Davin was not someone easy to forget.

  WHEN MY ALARM went off the next day, my body protested. I hadn’t run in a while, and I could feel it in every muscle. When I stood in front of my closet, I instinctively reached for a suit.

  At the last minute, I faltered. I pushed the hanger aside and instead pulled out a sweater and slacks.

  The blue sweater was something I found about two months ago at Empire Mall. It was from one of Ralph Lauren’s clothing lines from over ten years ago. When the First Wave hit, and our population had died off at a rapid rate, a surplus of goods was left. The government now had all of those items: clothes, shoes, furniture, electronics, appliances, vehicles, tools, etc. Everything was carefully stored in warehouses throughout the country.

  Each year, every state was rationed a percentage of those items to put on shelves. Newly manufactured items were available as well, but without world trade, supplies were limited. Consequently, prices were high, choices were low, and quality uncertain. It was one of many changes our society had grown used to.

  I pulled the thick sweater on, marveling at the luxurious quality. It was a material called cashmere. I smoothed it against me, realizing how lucky a find it had been. I frowned, though, when I slipped my pants on. They were loose. Perhaps my vow to not be so gluttonous was going too far.

  I made a mental note to eat more today. While food in the Compound was plentiful, that didn’t mean it always would be. Getting too thin could be dangerous. There had been more than one rumor in the community about people dying from starvation, especially during the winter.

  IT WAS BLACK as tar when I pulled into my parking spot in the Compound. The setting moon barely illuminated anything. I hurried through security, dropped my things in my office, and strode straight to the Inner Sanctum.

  It was around 5 a.m. again when I entered the watch room.

  “Morning,” Sergeant Rose said when I peeked my head around the corner. He was talking to the same night guard. “Have you met Private Paulson?”

  The night guard’s eyes widened in surprise when he saw me. No doubt seeing the same researcher at five in the morning, two mornings in a row, was a record for him. He appeared to be around my age with bland features that weren’t unattractive but also not attractive. His eyes though seemed kind. I liked that.

  “Ma’am,” he said when I just stood there.

  My anxiety kicked into overdrive even though I told myself I was being ridiculous.

  With a pounding heart, I stepped back. “Sorry to interrupt. I’ll wait in the hall.”

  I escaped to the comforting solitude of the empty hallway. Davin’s cell was so dark I couldn’t see anything. The nighttime lighting in the hall created a mirror effect on the cell’s glass.

  My hair looked unsightly. It was only then I realized I’d forgotten to brush it. I ran my fingers through it, straightening the dark tendrils billowing around my head. Perhaps I needed to be a little more conscientious from now on if I was going to wake up at four in the morning every day.

  Private Paulson exited the watch room a few minutes later. He politely nodded. I returned the gesture as best I could and stepped back into the watch room.

  “Back again,” Sergeant Rose remarked as I sat on the stool beside him.

  “You sound surprised.”

  “Well, to be honest, I kind of am.”

  I gave him a confused look. “I told Davin I’d be back this morning.”

  He shrugged and hesitated before saying, “Intentions don’t always equate to action.”

  “Maybe, but I try to keep my promises.”

  “I can see that.” He smiled and leaned back on his stool before reaching for his
coffee. It smelled liked vanilla today. “Do you have kids?” he asked, after taking a sip.

  Here it was. Small talk.

  As much as it made me squirm, I took a deep breath. You can do this! “No . . . and not married either . . . since I’m guessing that’s the next question you’re going to ask?” That sounds good. Right?

  He chuckled.

  “Um, do you have kids?” I wrung my fingers together.

  He pulled out a wallet from his back pocket. “Two boys.” He fished their pictures out. They were both dark haired, like him, and looked close in age. “Shawn’s twelve and Cooper’s ten. Cooper was born just before the First Wave.”

  “They’re good-looking kids.”

  He smiled. “My wife and I think so too.”

  “No girls?”

  His smile evaporated. “No . . .”

  I mentally slapped myself. I knew better than to say something like that. I had a fairly good guess what he was holding back. His look said everything. It was the look everyone got when that subject came up.

  “We had a daughter once,” he finally said. “McKenzie. She would have been fifteen this year. She died in the Second Wave.”

  A heavy ache settled in my chest. “I’m sorry, really, I am.”

  He shrugged. “We’ve all lost someone, right?”

  I swallowed thickly. “Doesn’t make it any easier.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  We sat quietly after that. I felt awful, and I also felt like a complete fool. Small talk was something I was eternally working on. Sometimes it was hard, sometimes it was easy, but never was it comfortable, especially when it revolved around families.

  Now, small talk about the weather, I could handle. Nothing like a good discussion on the jet stream to really get a conversation going, but families, I struggled with that. It was too personal. Too intense.

  Some people loved talking about their dead loved ones and needed to talk about them. As if their name was never mentioned again, that they’d cease to have ever existed. I got that and I was good at listening.

  If Sergeant Rose wanted to talk about McKenzie, I would have listened, abandoning my plan to get more information from him about Davin.