by Em Garner
“Opal, you sure you’ll be okay?” I ask.
Opal shrugs. “Sure.”
Things have changed over the past couple of weeks, mostly for the better. I thought it would be harder, making sure she did her schoolwork, making ends meet without a job, but so far it’s all falling into place. I put on my coat and give them both a last look before I follow Dillon out the door.
“Do you really have to go to the store?” he asks.
“No. Where are you taking me?”
“On a date.”
He grins at me as I slide into the passenger seat. We haven’t had anything like a date yet. With curfews and the army patrolling the streets, there’s no place to go, even if either of us did have any money to spend or there were anything datelike to do.
I laugh. “For real? Where? To Foodland?”
“No.” Dillon shakes his head. “You’ll see.”
There are roadblocks set up across the highway, and Dillon frowns as he slows the truck. I look out at the camouflage-painted trucks, and the men and women in their uniforms. They have blank faces and carry guns.
“What’s going on?”
Before Dillon can answer, one of the soldiers raps on his window. Dillon rolls it down. Without saying anything, he tugs open the collar of his jacket and the shirt beneath it to show his bare skin. The soldier nods, then gestures.
“Her, too.”
“Show them your neck, Velvet.”
“What? Why?”
This gets the soldier’s attention. He leans in Dillon’s window to stare at me. “Where’ve you been?”
“Just show him, Velvet,” Dillon says calmly, though I hear a slight tremor in his voice.
I bare my neck for the soldier, who seems satisfied and withdraws. He waves us on. All my good feelings have faded, but I wait until we’ve left the roadblock behind before I turn in the seat to look at Dillon.
“Were they checking for collars?”
He nods, eyes on the road, hands on the wheel. His mouth is thin. I watch him swallow, hard.
“Why?”
At the intersection where we saw the accident not so long ago, Dillon stops for a red light. He looks at me. “There’ve been more outbreaks. A couple in Harrisburg, a whole bunch in Philly. An entire aerobics class in Ohio someplace. Others, too. They’re saying it’s something called Residual Contamination, that the batches of bad water were more widespread than was first announced.”
“How bad?” I force my voice to not be a whisper.
“There aren’t as many all at once, but they’re more violent when they do fall. They’re not as impaired, either. Not as clumsy.” Dillon, watching the light turn green, puts his foot on the accelerator. “They’re talking about mandatory testing for everyone, not just voluntary for people who used ThinPro.”
“And… then what?”
Dillon bites his lip for a second before answering. “Neutralization.”
“Even if you’re not sick?” I cry, stunned and disgusted.
“Yeah. They’re calling it voluntary preventative measures, but… who’d go in to volunteer to be tested, knowing you’ll end up in a collar? Or worse?”
I look out the window at my town. I’ve lived here my entire life, never known any other place, but it seems like a foreign country to me now. “What do you mean, worse?”
“They’re recalling collars.” Dillon says this in a flat, quiet voice. “There’ve been some reports that they don’t work. That the Connies who wear them are even worse than the ResCons.”
I think of my mom. “That’s ridiculous. Besides, there’s Mercy Mode. How much worse can they be if they’re shocked to death?”
Dillon turns down a side street by Lebanon High School, then another. He stops in front of a yellow house and turns off the ignition, then turns in his seat to face me. “They’re not saying. The news has been strange lately, like they’re keeping a lid on a lot of stuff. And the Net’s been down. Really down.”
I frown. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”
“I didn’t want to worry you.” Dillon sighs and scrubs at his face. For the first time, I notice how tired he looks. “They’re coming into the kennel and taking away the unclaimed, Velvet. My mom’s worried.”
“What are they doing with them?”
His shrug says it all. “Probably what they did with them before the special interest groups lobbied for the Connies’ release. When they thought the Contamination was over.”
I shudder. “Tests. And experiments.”
“Yes. They say it’s to figure out a vaccine or a cure. But Mom’s convinced they’re just…”
He won’t say it, but I think I know what Jean thinks. “Disposing of them, right? Putting them down?”
He nods again, then reaches out one arm along the back of the seat to pull me toward him. It’s nice, the way Dillon holds me. Still and silent, not needing to say anything to comfort me. His breath ruffles my hair, and I can feel his heartbeat on my cheek when I press against his chest.
We sit that way for a few minutes until he pushes me gently away. “Hey. Listen, don’t worry about that now. I brought you on a date, remember?”
I look around. “I see that. But to where?”
“C’mon, I’ll show you.” Grinning, he kisses me quickly and gets out of the truck to go around and open my door for me. So romantic.
He takes me to the yellow house and opens the door. “Dad! I’m here! And I brought someone, okay? Her name’s Velvet. Remember I told you about Velvet?”
I have only a half minute to wonder why he’s speaking so loud and so slow, with such precision. Then his dad comes around the corner from the hall into the living room, and I understand right away. Dillon’s dad is like my mom. Worse than my mom—he’s not wearing a collar, but he has the shambling step and slack face of someone who’s been neutralized.
“Where’s Mom? Work?”
Dillon’s dad doesn’t respond at first. He’s staring at me. Despite myself, I get a little shiver. He’s not collared but clearly something’s been done to him, and though I know he can’t possibly be dangerous, a flashback of Craig slamming into the glass door streaks through my brain.
“He can’t talk. Just like your mom.”
“Hi, Mr. Miller,” I say. “I’m Velvet. How are you?”
Dillon’s dad shuffles back down the hall and disappears through a doorway. I hear the sound of a TV.
“It’s all he does all day,” Dillon says. “Even though there’s really nothing on.”
He looks cautious and a little scared. He was nervous about having me meet his dad, I see that. I’m touched. Now I know why Jean was so adamant about encouraging me to call her son, why she thought we’d be a good fit. She was right, even though her reasons really had nothing to do with why I like Dillon.
“You could’ve told me before, you know.” I reach for his hand. “Did you think I’d mind?”
Dillon’s fingers tighten in mine. “I didn’t know, at first. I mean, yeah, your mom and everything, but my dad’s worse off.”
“He didn’t look so bad.”
Dillon shakes his head. “He hasn’t recovered half as much as your mom has. He can’t talk, has trouble eating. He has to wear a diaper. We don’t think he’ll ever get better.”
“But… he’s not getting worse, is he?”
From the back room, a laugh track makes me wish any of this were funny. Dillon scrubs at his hair again, rumpling it. I reach to smooth it and he captures my hand to kiss it before squeezing my fingers in his.
“No. Not worse.”
“What did they do to him?”
Something painful flits across his face. “He was the second wave. Mom and I didn’t even know he’d ever used ThinPro—he didn’t need to lose weight. We found out later the break room at his job stocked them in the soda machine. We think he just liked the taste. When he didn’t come from work, Mom called the cops. They were on the lookout for him. Found him in someone’s garden, tearing up th
e rosebushes. They… they staked him.”
Dillon touches the inner corners of his eyes. “Ice-pick lobotomy. That’s what they were doing to everyone.”
“I remember.” I shudder. “I’m so sorry.”
“They were honest in the report. Said he hadn’t done any harm they could tell, hadn’t seemed aggressive, made no moves toward the arresting officers. He was just tearing up the flowers. He had his wallet still with him, so they could get his ID. And they just… did him, and not gently.”
“I’m sorry.” It’s an honest but not helpful thing to say again.
Dillon shakes like he’s throwing off bad memories. “Anyway, they were just following orders. Who knew, right? There were a lot of people just going nuts. They didn’t know my dad. And who knows… he might’ve done something… eventually.”
I know there’s a good chance my mom committed crimes. Destruction of property. Maybe attacked someone. There’s no record of it, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.
“Some date, huh?” Dillon says. “Sorry.”
“No. Don’t. I’m glad you brought me to meet your dad.”
“Oh, that’s not the date.” Dillon brightens, takes me by the hand. He leads me into the dining room, where the table’s been set with good china and glasses. “This is the date.”
“You made me dinner?”
“Well…” He looks sheepish for a second. “Mom made the dinner. But it was my idea. It’s sort of… to celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?” My mouth’s already watering at the good smells coming from the kitchen, and my stomach rumbles. We aren’t lacking for meals, Opal and me, but they’re usually simple and cheap and, because I try to be responsible, healthy.
“We’ve never had a date,” Dillon says.
I stop cold in the doorway to look at him. It’s the sweetest, most romantic thing any boy’s ever done for me. Not that a lot of boys have ever done anything for me. It’s all the more special because of that.
Dillon—or Jean, really, but it doesn’t matter—has made roast chicken. Baked potatoes. Dinner rolls with real butter, corn, and Brussels sprouts. Baby carrots so tender, I want to cry when I bite into them. And soda! I haven’t had cola in so long, the bubbles make me cough.
Then there’s dessert. Chocolate cake with chocolate icing and mint chocolate-chip ice cream with hot fudge and whipped cream. Minutes before he brings them out, I’d have said I couldn’t force myself to eat another bite, but I know I will. No regrets, either, as I finish off a full plate and lick the fork, then my fingers.
I sit back with a sigh. “I’ll need bigger jeans.”
“My mom says you could use some extra meat on your bones.” Dillon’s eaten just as much as I have, and he rubs his belly. “She says it about everyone, though.”
“Dillon. Thank you. This was the best date I’ve ever had.” I mean it.
Dillon smiles. “I wanted you to have something, Velvet. You work so hard, keeping everything together. And I know it’s hard for you. I just wanted you to have something nice.”
There aren’t many teenage boys who’d think of such a thing, much less go through the effort of making the gesture, but Dillon’s not a boy, I think. He’s young, but he’s a man. He doesn’t get to be a boy any more than I get to be a girl. We’re both grown-ups, even if we’re not really adults.
It isn’t so hard right now to imagine myself spending the rest of my life with Dillon.
It is hard, though, to imagine spending the rest of the night. Already the sky’s getting dark, and we did promise Opal we’d be back before dark. Dillon helps me wrap up leftovers, and I don’t even protest. I’m proud, but I’m not that proud. Besides, I know Opal and my mom will love the chocolate cake as much as I did.
I’m full and happy and content as Dillon drives me home, and not even the roadblock ahead can ruin it. The soldiers can, though. This time it’s a woman who motions for Dillon to roll down his window.
He shows his throat at once, but she barks out, “What’s your business here?”
“I’m driving my girlfriend home,” Dillon says.
She looks down the road, which has no other traffic this far out of town. “Where does she live?” She waves a hand. “Never mind. Let me see her throat.”
I open my coat.
She stares at me with narrowed eyes. “Say something.”
“What?” Dillon says.
“Not you.” She points. “Her. What’s your name?”
“Velvet Ellis.” My voice sounds raspy.
This seems to satisfy her, though. She nods sharply, but doesn’t step aside right away. “You know you’re almost breaking curfew, don’t you?”
“It’s only—” I begin, but Dillon answers.
“I thought it was at eight!”
She shakes her head. Her face softens a little. “New curfew in effect. Nightfall. We’ve had some reports of incidents in Lancaster.”
That’s twenty-five miles from here. Yet still close enough, I guess, to worry about. I have to ask. “What kind of incidents?”
“The usual.” Her eyes narrow again. “Nothing for you to worry about. Just move along. And get off the streets.”
As she says this, an ambulance, followed by a police car, both with lights flashing and sirens wailing, speed past us. They don’t stop for the soldiers, who merely wave them past. She looks back at us.
“Remember, curfew starts at nightfall.”
She waves us on.
TWENTY-FOUR
WE’RE QUIET ON THE WAY HOME. WE DON’T pass any other cars on the road, which hasn’t been unusual for months but seems especially chilling now. I’m angry that our date, our first and only one, has been ruined by all of this.
By the time Dillon pulls near my driveway, I’m clenching and unclenching my fists because I can’t do anything else. I resist when he pulls me into his arms, but only for a second or two. Then I’m melting against him.
This isn’t like the times with Tony, when we stayed in his car as long as we could before my mom started to flick the light switch on and off to let us know it was time for me to come in. It’s not even dark now, but it doesn’t matter since there’s nobody to catch us kissing.
“It’s going to be okay, Velvet. It’s all going to be okay.”
I don’t believe him, but it’s nice to hear him say it. “All of this stuff, Dillon. It’s all so…”
“I know.” His fingers twirl around a lock of my hair, not pulling. “You’re going to make it through this, you know. And it’s all going to blow over.”
“The way it did the last time? Look how well that turned out.” I look out the window at my house. There aren’t any lights on inside because I haven’t turned on the generator. “You’d better go. It’s getting dark. You’ll be out after curfew.”
There’s really been no information about what happens to you if you get caught out after curfew, but it would be trouble I don’t want Dillon to get into. He’s done enough for me. For us. It’s not fair to expect him to do more.
“Yeah.” He doesn’t move.
I smile. “Now, Dillon. You don’t want those soldiers stopping you again.”
“They’ll stop me, anyway. It’s a roadblock.”
Both of us fall silent at this, at how it’s awful and yet has become so natural—soldiers on the streets, curfews, power outages, and lately, food shortages. I kiss him again. We haven’t been together long, but it feels more normal than anything else.
A light flashes.
“Gotta go,” I say automatically. “My mom—” I stop and stare at the front door of the house. The porch light’s not on, of course, but there’s definitely a light flashing. On, off. On, off. Just the way my mom used to do it. We both get out of the truck. I reach the door before he does, though Dillon’s right behind me. My mom’s standing inside the storm door, pointing a flashlight out at the driveway. On, off. On, off.
She lowers it when she sees me. She opens the door and holds it for me. I look over
my shoulder at Dillon, who’s just staring. He looks amazed and a little sad, and I know he’s thinking about his dad.
“Sorry, Mom.”
She makes a noise that might’ve been a word, but wasn’t quite. It’s enough, though. There were times before all this happened that my mom could yell at me with only her eyes, and she’s doing it now. I giggle, not because it’s funny but because with everything else going on in the world, for my mom to be scolding me for kissing a boy seems just so… normal.
“Night, Mrs. Ellis,” Dillon says politely.
She blinks the light in his face. Then she closes the door on it. She shuffles away into the family room, which is tidier than it was when I left. I hear the clink of metal on wood when she puts down the flashlight.
“Where’d you go?” Opal says. She’s curled up in the armchair, reading a book in the last fading light coming in through the window.
“To Dillon’s house, that’s all. I met his dad. He’s like Mom.”
Opal nods. “Oh. Mama made me some grilled cheese.”
“She did? How? What about the beans?”
Opal points to the fireplace. I see a stoneware bowl with a lid settled in the ashes. “She baked them in that?”
“Sure. They were good, too. I love grilled cheese. Can you get some more cheese the next time you go to the store?”
“We’ll see.” The shortages are mostly with junk food and high-priced stuff like steak and seafood. Luxuries. Stuff I can’t really afford, anyway. “Did you do your homework?”
“Yeah. Mama checked it.”
I look over at my mom, who’s in the kitchen washing some dishes. “C’mon, Opal. You know she can’t do that.”
“She can do lots of stuff.” Opal puts her book down. “But you can check it if you don’t believe me.”
“Tomorrow.” I’m too tense to worry about it now, and even though I’d never want Opal to think it doesn’t matter, I’m not sure her homework really does. Not anymore.
I go to the kitchen and watch my mom as she slowly washes each dish, rinses it, and sets it in the drainer to dry. “Mom.”
