by Kate Breuer
“Good. That’s settled then. Here are your assignments for the rest of the week. Johnson, Steve, Clyde”—he points at the three men standing together—“secure the lab corridor. If anyone tries to enter, you let me know immediately.”
He goes on and assigns everyone in the room a job. Everyone except Zeke and me.
“You two”—he points at us—“can go home and do whatever your lazy asses wish to do. No assignments. I’ll contact you if something comes up. Get out of my sight.” He waves us away with an annoyed look.
I know why Derec is pissed at us for not getting a job to do. He hates how we get what he considers to be preferential treatment. He seems to think we are lazy good-for-nothings with good connections to the mayor. The fact that Derec thinks I would abuse my connection like this makes me want to punch him again.
It’s unfair because I’ve never asked for favors from my father. I actually ask him to let me go on more jobs. I would prefer to be assigned work. I don’t like sitting home all day. I joined PCR to become a security guard. I want to protect the city. It’s not me who doesn’t want to work. It’s my father trying to keep me out of the loop.
I storm outside, Zeke at my heel. I throw the door shut. My palms sting where I’m digging my fingernails into the skin. With effort, I unclench them.
“I hate this,” I groan and kick a stone on the path.
Zeke grunts. “Fucker acts like we want this. I would rather get some work done. Unassigned week after week? I bet we weren’t even supposed to be assigned the lab job on Saturday.”
“Not the way my father reacted when he saw us,” I agree.
Zeke and I sit outside my house and share a joint until it gets too cold. We don’t talk much. Both of us are too angry.
He goes home to spend some time with Sophie before he comes back over for dinner. Probably more to appease Isabel than anything. I can tell he doesn’t want to go.
I’m not good company today anyways. I can’t stop thinking about that woman.
It’s almost time for dinner, and I decide to make myself useful. I walk over to my kitchen and begin dicing a few tomatoes, since Liz mentioned a salad. I might as well help. She’s always the one cooking. She’s much better at it, but I don’t like doing nothing. I already don’t get to do anything for work.
Liz walks in with a large salad bowl in one arm. Two bags of groceries hang from the other. She spots my feeble attempt at diced tomatoes and smiles.
“At least you can’t say I didn’t try,” I laugh.
“True. Don’t worry about it. I can use your mutilated tomatoes.” She sets down the bags and holds out the bowl. “Throw them in.”
I take the bowl from her and scoop in the uneven tomato pieces. I wanted to help this time, but she’s already done.
“Anything I can do?”
Liz nods and gives me instructions for the fish. I follow them as well as I can and focus on not messing up ingredients. I’m not sure I’m actually helping. By the looks of things, I’m more in the way than anything. I think Liz is trying to make me feel included. The gesture makes me feel better and worse at the same time.
Zeke gets back in time to set the table. I leave Liz in charge of the final steps and help Zeke.
“Dipshit, play some music,” I say over the clatter of cutlery. Nice background jazz fills the room.
“Never gets old,” Zeke says and laughs to himself. Liz throws us a disapproving look.
When I moved in, the voice interface wanted me to decide on its name. I first considered Asshole, like that old man in a novel I once read—something about old people going to space and fighting against aliens. Dipshit was a safer choice. I use asshole too often in normal conversation. It would go off all the time.
“It smells amazing. Thanks for cooking, Liz. I’m starving,” Zeke says, trying to get back in Liz’s good graces after complimenting my naming of Dipshit.
Liz rolls her eyes and brings the food to the table. Zeke rubs his hands together. “Really, this looks good.”
“No problem,” Liz says pointedly. “You can thank Nate for the mutilated tomatoes.” She can’t help but smirk after the insult. I can tell it makes her feel better.
“I forgot to ask you earlier, Nate, did you see the black SUV parked outside the Imperium’s assembly—”
Liz interrupts him, “A car? Here?”
He nods. “I was too angry at Derec when we passed it on the way out. Didn’t notice it until I walked by it again on my way here.”
The disturbing image of the black SUV and the men carrying the woman won’t leave me. I think it’s time to tell my friends what I saw.
“Yeah. I saw it arrive last night when I was jogging.” They both stare at me. I put down my fork. “The new guy was there. And Steve and Clyde. They carried in a woman.” Curiosity is written all over Zeke’s and Liz’s faces.
When they don’t interrupt, I go on, “She wasn’t moving. Unconscious. Or at least I hope she was. I think it’s the woman from the hospital, Liz.” I look at her. “She fits your description. I didn’t see anyone else, though. I think her friends may have escaped.”
“Did they see you?” Liz asks with a mix of worry and shock.
“I don’t think so. I was in the shadows, and it was dark. Turned around and took another way home.”
Zeke opens his mouth a few times, then finally says, “I bet they took her into the lab corridor.”
“The one we aren’t allowed in anymore?”
It makes perfect sense. Why didn’t I connect the dots earlier?
“If only we could get assigned up there and find out what the lab freaks are up to,” Zeke growls. “I wouldn’t mind learning more about this experiment they mentioned.”
“We don’t know it’s the same experiment. They might be working on multiple weird things.” I scowl. My father will make sure we don’t get the assignment.
“What about Susan?” Liz asks.
“What about her?” I snap without thinking. I regret my tone and add, “Sorry, Liz.”
“It’s quite all right. I know you don’t like talking about her. But in this case, it makes sense. She works at the labs. She can get in. Probably knows what’s going on. She can help us.”
I grunt.
“Nate,” she continues in a serious tone, “I want to know what happened to that woman. I know I shouldn’t, but she seemed nice when I met her. Also, I thought there was no crime in the city. Isn’t that the whole point of PCR? To protect the city and region before anything happens?”
Zeke and I nod. We had been under the same impression. We were sold this perfect fantasy of how the organization exists to prevent crime.
“Fine,” I say in defeat. “I’ll talk to her.”
“Good, that’s settled then.”
“Nate told me the woman talked to you at the hospital,” Zeke says to Liz after a while. “Sounds exciting.”
Liz nods, but her mouth is too full to talk. She hums while quickly chewing her food. “It was. But I’m not sure about the whole thing. Do you think not telling anyone is the right thing?”
“What do you mean? Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Zeke gapes at her.
“I don’t want to get into trouble for showing her the files. So I’m keeping my mouth shut.”
Zeke shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. They have video surveillance in every room at the hospital.”
This catches me by surprise, and I feel anger rising up inside me. “Why don’t I know about this?” I work security, and no one bothers to tell me anything.
“I’m not supposed to know about it either. I walked into the control room once while Derec had the feeds open,” Zeke answers with another shrug. “I mean, everyone knows about the cameras in the examination rooms. They have signs in there. But they are in every single room. Even the hallways. They hide them well . . .”
He hesitates, then continues in a thoughtful voice, “To be honest, I think there’s surveillance for nearly everything—streets, official buildings. Th
ey just don’t tell us about it. There were a lot of cameras on the list I saw on Derec’s monitor.”
“So you’re saying they have footage of the woman and me? I’m fucked,” Liz says with a shudder.
We both look at her in surprise. “Fuck” is not in Liz’s regular vocabulary.
“You’re ‘fucked’? Wow, you must be pissed,” Zeke observes. “Well, if they haven’t talked to you yet, maybe they haven’t watched all the tapes. Or maybe something went wrong with the recording. It’s too late now anyway. The only thing you can do is wait it out.”
“If they are watching the hospitals, where else do you think they have cameras?” Liz asks after a moment.
I suddenly feel watched. It’s making me sick to my stomach. I really don’t like the idea of invisible cameras recording everything. There are enough visible ones to make me nervous.
“I’m not sure,” Zeke admits. “I definitely know about the hospital and a few streets in the other Circles. During training, they told us the Imperium’s assembly hall, training areas, and labs are monitored for security. I’m sure there are more, though. It was a long list Derec had to choose from. He shut it down as soon as he heard me enter, so I didn’t have long to look at it.”
“Do you think the houses are safe?” I ask. Instinctively, I look around and scan the room.
Could Derec be watching us right now?
“I’m sure the houses are safe. People spend too much time at home. We would find them while cleaning or something. They can’t risk that.” Zeke looks confident, but I’m not fully convinced. “Besides, if they were watching your house, we’d all be in trouble. We’ve had quite a few juicy conversations here. No, I’m sure this is safe.”
That’s true. The things we’ve talked about in here would have landed us in my father’s office many times. Questioning the society, its practices and motives, is not really something they let you get away with. Zeke is right.
“How should I talk to Susan tomorrow?” I ask. “I mean, I can’t go to the labs. They are out of bounds. Plus, cameras.”
“I have an idea,” Liz says, deep in thought. “I’ll go up there tomorrow. I can tell her you’d like to talk to her. If Derec sees you anywhere near the corridor, he’ll give you hell, but I don’t know about the restriction.” She smirks. “If anyone asks, I’ll tell them I’m planning a surprise for you and want your fiancée’s help.”
“Sounds convincing enough to me. You’re good at the innocent little girl routine.” Zeke grins. He turns to me. “Plus, your birthday is coming up. No one will ask twice about a surprise. You’re getting old, man.”
VII
Thursday
15
Chase
My stomach clenches and rumbles with hunger. I have no idea how long I’ve been here. I was unconscious when they brought me in and then knocked out again later. I don’t know how long I was out each time.
The sun is high. It must be around noon. I know I’ve been here for at least a day, but it could be more.
I reach for the water jug and fill the glass, draining it and then another. I guess I’m lucky I’m used to the food of the outer Circles and eating whatever is available because the plate they’ve left me looks anything but appetizing. The bread is stale, and the cheese looks more artificial than it probably is. Of course, it has also been lying here for however long I’ve been asleep. It tastes no better than it looks, but I’m hungry enough not to care. Ravenously, I gobble it down and drink another glass of water.
“I hope you enjoyed your meal, Mrs. Hunter.”
I jump at the sudden interruption of a male voice. I’m already used to hearing Susan’s chipper voice. I wish she was back now. The new voice is rough and unpleasant despite its politeness. While Susan would have demanded a response, the new voice continues without waiting for one.
“I am Tobias Drake. I work for PCR. I trust you know what that is.”
I nod.
“Good. As you know, PCR is a government-funded security corporation in charge of upholding the city’s peace. ‘PCR’ being short for Protecting the City and Region.”
I snort. Of course I know what it stands for. I have sewn more peacer uniforms than I can count.
“What’s so funny, Mrs. Hunter?”
“Oh, no, sorry. Go on, go on. I remembered a joke someone told me. Sorry.”
I don’t want to anger my new conversation partner. He hasn’t threatened me yet. Maybe I’ll be able to get some information out of him about my surroundings and fate.
Mr. Drake hesitates for a moment, or at least I guess that’s the case from the silence. It’s a little too silent, as if someone turned off the microphone.
“Okay. PCR is the security corporation in charge of protecting the city and surrounding territories.” He regains his train of thought. “I lead one of the units. As Miss Goodman was unsuccessful in getting some straight answers out of you, the mayor put me in charge of the interrogation.”
Interrogation? With a simple choice of words Mr. Drake completely changed the feel of this conversation. Now I really wish Susan was back. Maybe I should have been a little more cooperative with her.
“What am I being interrogated about?” I ask.
“I’m the one asking questions. You will answer them. It’s as simple as that. As long as you cooperate, there’s no need for me to hurt you in any way. Are we clear?”
He has the voice of someone who’s not used to people contradicting him, the tone of authority. I guess he’s used to giving commands. I need to tread carefully, or else I risk getting myself into more trouble.
I nod.
“I said, are we clear?”
I nod again and add a defiant, “Yes.”
“Yes, sir,” he insists. “You will refer to me with respect.”
I force myself to say, “Yes, sir.”
“First question: Why were you at the hospital?”
Susan asked me this twice already, which means they don’t believe what I told her. Since the truth is not an option, I stick with my story.
“I went to the hospital to deliver some doctor’s robes. You can ask the reception nurse who was on duty.”
“Wrong answer. You might have been there with doctor’s robes, and you may have convinced the reception nurse of your lie, but we found the bag of robes in the bathroom. We also have footage of you entering the same bathroom in street clothes and coming out in an inspector’s suit.”
They have video. I should have known. Just because there were no signs in the hallways like in the observation rooms, doesn’t mean there were no cameras. I swallow. If they know this, I don’t see a way I can convince them of my lie.
“I’m going to give you one more chance,” he says in a bored voice. “Tell me, Mrs. Hunter.”
I take a moment to think about my options. If they have video of me in the bathroom, they also have video of my friends. They know who helped me. It also means they know I was on the computer in the nurse’s station and went through the refrigerators in the blood room. The only thing that matters now is protecting Willow—Willow and my friends.
I need a better lie. One that would make me admit to a crime but not give away why I was really there. Staying close to the truth seems like the only way to do this.
“I went to steal the blood sample of a friend. I walked in pretending to deliver robes. I forced a nurse to help me find the patient number. She had no idea I wasn’t really an inspector,” I add. I don’t want the girl to get into trouble. It’s not her fault.
“I memorized my friend’s patient number and a random one to create a false trail.” I pause, frantically searching for a convincing way out of this. “I went into the storage room and located the two blood samples. A guard interrupted me, and I knew there was no way out. I shoved him out of my way and ran.”
I run through it again in my head to be sure I didn’t leave any plot holes. Seems solid.
“Why were you trying to steal your friend’s blood sample?”
I wrack my brain, trying to layer lies on lies. “I didn’t want anyone to know I had given her some of my Disease medication. They took her blood during a recent test, and she knew it would show too high of a concentration. She knew we could both get into trouble.”
“And why would you share any of your prescription?”
“I heard the medication helps against the flu. My friend was very sick and couldn’t get to the hospital, so I gave her some of my prescription.” It’s a feeble lie. I am getting further and further down the rabbit hole, and I can’t see a way out.
“Did the medication help?” Mr. Drake asks without any emotion.
I nod. “It worked perfectly. My friend was able to return to work the next day.”
“You are lying again, Mrs. Hunter. I don’t like being lied to.”
How does he know? I know people who have done this before—taking extra pills when they get sick to get over it, then skipping a few doses after they are better. I use this to help bolster my conviction.
“No, it’s true. I gave her some of my medication, and she got better really fast.”
“That’s not possible, Mrs. Hunter.”
“Why not?” I ask, and it makes me feel like a petulant child.
“Because there is no medicinal value in your pills. You are given a placebo in which the active ingredient is replaced with an herbal instead.”
My thoughts race. This can’t be true. Why would they do that?
“The herbal component ensures your addiction, but it doesn’t help with the flu, let alone the Disease. We have been sure to add a dose to your bread and water here to keep consistent levels. We need you alert enough to answer our questions—not suffering withdrawals. Last chance to tell me the truth. I’m getting impatient, Mrs. Hunter.”
I wish he would stop calling me that.
There is no way I can come up with a convincing lie. I’ve backed myself into a corner with no way out. I decide to go with the only approach I have left: silence.
