by Greg Dragon
“Well I got an idea about the food. We can charge for security.”
Jill glanced crossways at Python. “What?”
He shrugged. “We’re already running the muscle for our barracks building. Might as well charge the straights something for it.”
“Python, I need you to think like a cop on this one, not a con. Be a sheepdog, not a wolf.”
He laughed. “Me? A cop? You’re kidding.”
Jill stopped and faced the thin man, now a lot less grizzled and scarred. “I got news for you, Keith. Yeah, I know that’s your name. Don’t ask me how. You’re a different person already. You’re still a hard case, but I bet the thought of murdering someone in cold blood twists your guts up.”
He looked uncomfortable, shrugged. “Yeah, so?”
“Look,” she said, putting a hand on his arm, the first time she’d touched him with anything like affection since she’d passed him the Plague. “Violence has its place in the world. I know, because I spent my youth in a street gang and then I joined the Marine Corps. I’m not asking you to be weak. I’m telling you that you can be strong and good at the same time.”
Then she kissed him, for real. “Let’s go back to the barracks.”
He swallowed. “What about getting pregnant?”
And that proves you’ve changed, Keith my Python. The old you wouldn’t have even cared.
“I think we can have some fun even without that risk.”
***
“I can’t believe this is working.” Python shook his head. “Getting everyone in our block to chip in food…don’t make no sense.”
“Fear isn’t the only human motivator,” Jill replied. “Altruism, kindness, or just enlightened self interest work too, otherwise who would give to charity?”
“Tax breaks,” Python ventured.
“That helps,” she admitted, “and getting your name on a plaque, things like that. But some people just give because they want to help people. Or they believe in karma, or God, or something like that. What goes around, comes around.”
“And payback’s a bitch. Okay.” He looked at the pillowcases of food they’d collected from the nearly two hundred people in their building. It had become a popular block even before they organized better security, after Jill and Python had dealt with a couple of attempts to extort their fellow prisoners.
The place even had a waiting list, because Jill had organized a score of the men and a couple of the women into a neighborhood watch. Half the collected food went to them, adding roughly twenty percent to her unofficial security officers’ diets. It was only fair, since they did work the hardest.
The other half of the food filled the two pillowcases they carried. Now that one part of her plan had worked out, Jill was ready for the next. “Let’s go.”
Python didn’t ask where.
They approached the escape barracks as night fell, but before the lights came on. It was the best time to move around unseen. A challenge came from the side door they’d chosen: “Whatta yous want?”
“Boston or Philly?” Jill asked.
“Neithuh. Woostuh. I’m still askin’, whatta yous want?”
“Got something for you.” They set the pillowcases down on the steps of the entranceway, and turned to walk away.
“Hey, what’s this about?”
“Ask your boss,” Jill replied over her shoulder. They rounded the nearest building just as the lights began to glow along the fence line, throwing harsh shadows inward.
The next night they returned to the same building, different door, a few minutes earlier. This time they dumped the pillowcases, leaving the lookout to scramble as loose fruit, rolls and cookies spilled over the steps.
The third night they stopped by the side door of the nearest barracks and waved the lookout over. He ignored their gestures, but after a few minutes, a dark-skinned woman walked out past the watcher and over to them.
She looked young, as all Plague carriers did, except for her eyes, which seemed ancient. And she didn’t smile. “What’s this about?” she asked.
Jill gestured at the food. “We need our pillowcases back. We can’t give away two every time we bring you supplies.”
“And why the hell are you giving us supplies?”
“For your tunnel rats.”
The woman’s jaw worked, and she looked as if she would explode. Then she mastered herself with an effort, putting on a bland smile, and sat down on the steps next to them. Blazing lights came on just then, aimed inward on poles around the outside of the fence, and from dim twilight the three were plunged into deep shadow, shielded by the buildings.
“So who are you?” the woman asked.
“I’m Reaper. This is Python,” Jill replied.
“Convicts.” Disdain tinged her voice.
Jill only laughed. “Convicts might be your salvation.”
“Convicts might be informers. We can’t trust anyone that isn’t an Eden.”
Jill snorted. “Oh, it’s a noun now? Edens, Sickos, Unies…labels. Doesn’t mean you can trust all Edens either. You think Edens are immune to fear or bribery, or threats to their kids? I bet the goons already know about your tunnel. We figured it out our first week here.”
“So why are you helping?”
Jill rolled up her sleeve, showing her the tattoo that perfected Eden eyes could see in the dimness. “Because I’m not a convict. I’m a Marine. It’s my duty to defend my country against all enemies, foreign or domestic. These enemies seem pretty domestic to me. And it’s my duty to escape.”
“What about him?” The woman glanced at Python.
“He’s with me. That’s all you need to know.”
The woman nodded slowly. “Okay. You can call me Cee. We’ll take your food, and thank you for it. What do you want in return?”
Jill smiled. “Two assault rifles and ammo would be nice.”
Cee snorted. “Fat chance.”
“Okay, then, how about information? We haven’t heard much news in a while. If anyone gets out, where is there to go?”
“Mexico and Canada…one of the Caribbean islands. Any other country, really, except China and Russia. Most places have no policy against Edens, so at least we wouldn’t be rounded up.” A light breeze began, bringing them the smell of earth and farm.
Jill nodded, musing. “And after you get some people out and running?”
“We have a few plans.”
“I don’t want details, Cee. I just want to know you have some kind of objective other than merely crossing the wire. We’re in the middle of a whole lot of nothing, and the little towns nearby won’t be hard to search, unless the entire population is noncompliant.”
Cee licked her lips. “I shouldn’t even be discussing this with you. I only just met you.”
“Whatever. But from being on the other side of this situation, I’ll tell you that the best time to stage your escape is when something changes – the bigger the better. Anything that disrupts the routine will provide an opportunity.”
“Understood.”
Jill turned to look the woman in the face. “And one other thing, since you asked. The thing I really want is a tipoff when you go. Twelve hours, even six.”
“You don’t want to go with us?” Cee seemed surprised.
“Oh, hell no.”
Cee waited for Jill to go on but she did not continue, so the dark woman shrugged and stood up. “All right. I’ll send a runner by your building on the day before.”
“Fair enough.” Jill held out her hand to shake, then Python did the same, surprising the other woman.
“Good luck,” he said, and Cee gave him a quizzical look before she walked back to her barracks and her tunnel. “Didn’t know quite what to make of me,” Python said when she had gone.
“That’s how I want it. Keep ’em guessing.” Jill slapped him on his shoulder, grown rock-hard with surplus food and the exercise regimen she demanded. “Let’s go.”
As they walked back to their block, Python asked
, “I thought you said before you wanted to go to L.A. Now you’re asking about Mexico and stuff.”
“I did a lot of thinking about that. I’m not just listed as AWOL anymore. I’m in their records as infected. My biometrics, my fingerprints, probably my DNA…it’s too dangerous. Whatever happened to my family, I can’t help the dead, and I’d be just causing trouble for any survivors. You too, for that matter. The best thing I – we – can do now is just get away to somewhere that doesn’t lock up people like us. Then maybe we can think about fighting back.”
“I’m all right with that,” Python replied.
“How come you never talk about your family?” she asked him as they walked.
“I treated them like shit. They don’t want to see me. I don’t blame them.” He sounded regretful.
“Well, it’s never too late. My old man wasn’t happy with me running with a gang. If I hadn’t joined up, he’d probably have thrown me out of the house anyway.”
“He must have been happy when you enlisted.”
Jill nodded. “Yeah, he was proud of me, but I was so angry at him that I didn’t talk to him for years. And now…now maybe it’s too late.”
“You just told me it’s never too late.”
She laughed. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I?”
The security men at their block door nodded to the pair as they entered their well-run barracks. People immediately started to approach; Jill had become a de facto judge and jury when anything was in dispute. She sighed, and said, “Give me five minutes, folks.”
Chapter Eight
Six weeks later
Despite all best-laid plans, something went wrong. It always does, Jill thought as sirens wailed in the middle of the night, waking her and Python from a sound sleep. They rolled out of bed and dressed hurriedly. Most of the detainees streamed out of the barracks, but he and she climbed up the improvised ladder they kept ready, and out the ceiling hatch onto the sloping roof. From there, they could see a lot of the camp.
SS guards poured out of their own living quarters on the other side of the main gate, toting weapons and jumping into every available vehicle. “It looks like they woke all three shifts up,” Jill remarked, craning her neck as she held onto a ventilation duct at the apex of the roof. “Something big.”
It wasn’t long before they could see that the troops had spread out around the outside of the camp, driving Humvees and trucks through the empty cornfields with lights blazing. Eventually about half of the available manpower concentrated itself off to the northwest.
Python got it first. “That’s near the tunnel block.”
“Shit. You’re right. Do you think they went early? Nobody told us. Damn.” Jill spat a few more choice epithets. “And no way we can break out now, not with a Humvee every fifty yards and the lights on. Why didn’t they tell us?”
“Maybe they thought we were informants.” He shrugged.
We could have taken the lights down, we could have organized diversions, we have improvised wire cutters to cut through and slip away in the confusion…damn you, Cee, we could have made you successful, or at least, not the fiasco this will be. Jill kicked the ventilation duct in frustration. “Let’s go talk to our block. Nothing to see here.”
Back inside, Jill coordinated with her building’s guardians, as she thought of them, telling them to keep the entrances secure and try to persuade people to come back and go to bed. Now was not the time to step out of line, not with the SS cocked and locked and jumpy as hell. Then she and Python settled back to wait, and eventually to sleep.
When the sun came up, winter-late, she sent her people out with instructions to gather information about what had happened. Soon she had pieced together the story. “You called it,” she said to Python. “For whatever stupid reason, they went last night, and they all got caught. They should have told us, and they didn’t. They should have gone at nightfall to maximize their hours of darkness, but instead they went at two in the morning.”
“Were the guards waiting for them?”
“No, but they got alerted quick, so Cee was right about that. Someone ratted them out, just not us.”
Python smacked a fist into his palm. “So much for your grand diversion.”
“Yes, but now we have to worry about the crackdown.” Jill looked him in the eyes. “You know it’s coming.”
“Always does. They let the camp run easy for a while, but now whoever’s in charge has to make a show of strength, and punishment.” He picked up an apple, stared at it, then bit. “Gonna get interesting,” he said around a mouthful.
It didn’t get interesting until the next day, after an uneasy night. That morning the word spread after the usual pickup of food supplies for the dining halls: rations were being cut by one third; that is, one full meal a day. Additionally, the guards announced a curfew. Everyone would be confined to their barracks blocks between sundown and sunup.
And one more thing she had more or less predicted. All infected internees would soon be implanted with birth control devices, among a range of choices, or they could opt for sterilization. She wondered how long before the choices would evaporate and the SS would choose the cheapest and most permanent final option.
Jill expected – hoped even, that this would cause a surge of unrest, but if most people were sheep, then most Edens were lambs. Without a direct threat, their sense of outrage did not translate into action, and the virtue effect’s suppression of violent impulses rendered the critical mass needed to form a mob extremely unlikely.
Insight flashed through Jill, then, about why the camp had been so easygoing until now. To a certain extent the SS must have believed their own propaganda – which was always a danger of having too much control. They had thought that Edens wouldn’t even try to escape or resist in any way, but making people less selfish and violent didn’t mean they were always passive.
She herself didn’t feel any inhibitions on her own use of force, except if it was intended to kill: then, she experienced a physical revulsion. But compartmentalization was part of any warrior’s mentality, and so as long as she kept her goals, reasons – rationales, anyway – firmly in mind, she had no problem inflicting corrective action on those that deserved it.
Her conscience remained clear, and that was all the Plague seemed to care about.
Jill wondered about people who simply had no consciences – sociopaths, psychopaths. Would the Plague repair their brains? What if the abnormality was psychological and not physiological? What would people like that look like? Could they even be identified?
She filed those thoughts for later.
Immediately Jill did away with the contribution of food for the guardians. On two thirds of the former diet, every Eden would soon begin to waste away; in effect, starving. Normals – those few left in the camp, as infection naturally only went one direction – could get by on a lot less.
But most of those normals were hard cases, and were not likely to give up anything.
That would have been another benefit of organizing a mass tunnel escape. Leaving the ration cards behind in the hands of designated leaders could have provided a food surplus, at least for as long as it took the guards to sort it all out. That could have been stored against another contingency.
Now everyone would just grow weaker and weaker.
Jill turned to Python. “We have to act soon, on our own. Every day from now on, we’ll be less capable. And we can’t train hard anymore, because we won’t have the calories.”
“Yeah. We can stretch that out with the camp scrip we got stashed,” – they had built up a savings account from contributions – “but food prices are gonna go up. A lot.”
“Do you have any ideas on what we can do that won’t prey off people here?”
“Yeah.” He looked at her speculatively. “If by ‘people’ you mean the sheep. That leaves the hard cases. Get control of them and their ration cards, and there’s more food for everyone. Might get ugly, though.” He finished his apple, core and all,
discarding only the stem.
“Too ugly,” Jill said, shaking her head. “We’re not equipped to keep them locked up, even if I could stomach starving them for our own benefit.”
“Who says we let them live?” Python grinned an evil grin. “Just kidding, boss.”
“No, but what you say has some merit. It’s given me an idea.”
“What?”
Jill grinned an evil grin of her own.
***
Python and Jill approached the hard cases’ block in the early afternoon. Though their number had dwindled, there were still forty or fifty of the convicts that preferred to live together, instinctively afraid of the Edens – of contamination, perhaps, or of being turned into sheep.
Or of being cured of their sick desires.
Behind Jill and Python, ten of their guardians waited, close enough to intervene if things got out of hand. At the bottom of the front steps the two stopped, looking up at the tattooed man that sat keeping watch. From inside the block Jill could hear the sounds of grunting and group encouragement – weightlifting, or a physical contest, she hoped.
“What?” the man asked disdainfully.
Python said, “We need to talk to Drake.”
“Drake don’t need to talk to you,” the bull-necked bruiser replied.
“Why don’t you let him decide?” Jill cocked her hip suggestively.
“Don’t need no Sicko whores, either.”
“Tell him we got something he wants.”
“What?” The man stood up, towering over them from the top of the steps.
Python shook his head, slowly. “For Drake.”
Finally the hard case grunted and signaled for another to watch the door while he went inside. A few moments later a fit man in a sleeveless undershirt stepped out. He looked about forty, with thick hair and intelligent eyes. Muscular, but not massive. Jill knew that somehow this man managed to keep these men in line and working for him, so he had brains as well as brawn.
