The Virulent Chronicles Box Set

by Shelbi Wescott

  “Mr. King, Miss King,” they said. Then they turned to Grant. “Grant Trotter. Huck Truman has requested an audience with you in his office. Please follow us.”

  “Is this optional?” Grant asked with a half-smile.

  The men did not smile back.

  “He doesn’t have to go with you,” Ethan replied and he crossed his arms.

  “This is non-negotiable,” one of the guards said to Ethan. “Step aside, please.”

  “No way. He’s not going,” Ethan said.

  “Move aside.”

  Ethan uncrossed his arms and took his pointer finger and poked it into the sternum of the guard closet to him. “I said he’s not going with you,” he hissed.

  Without another word, the guard looked to his partner and then stepped back. Lucy gasped as the guard lifted his boot and took aim against Ethan’s prosthetic leg, kicking it squarely in the space just below where Ethan’s prosthetic began. The leg gave out underneath him and Ethan scrambled to hold on to something. He grabbed the upper part of the barstool and his limbs flew out around him.

  “I’ll go!” Grant yelled, but Lucy clung to his hand. “I’m sorry, Lucy...I have to...”

  “Don’t,” Lucy said. She turned to the guards, “I’m not letting him go. You can take it up with Huck if you want to, but I’m not letting go.” She stood firm and defiant, even though her heart beat ferociously.

  “Lucy—” Grant said. He unwrapped her hand from his own and then he stopped and helped Ethan to his feet. “Ethan, if...”

  “No,” Ethan said. He took a step forward toward the waiting guards, but this time the guard went for his weapon.

  “Stand back, Mr. King,” the man said.

  “Don’t let her do anything dangerous,” Grant said. “Please.”

  “The Kings don’t like to be told what to do,” Ethan replied. He clasped his hand on Grant’s shoulder as Grant stepped in front of the guards.

  “No!!” Lucy cried and she tried to go after him, but Ethan stopped her. He grabbed her around her shoulders and pulled her into him, hanging on to her as Grant was led away. She could feel the throbbing down to her elbows. “No! Don’t you dare hurt him!” she yelled again. It didn’t do any good. They walked off with Grant in tow, out into the hallway and out of sight.

  The other bar patrons watched the spectacle unfold and then went back to their drinks. They busied themselves by staring at their TV screens.

  “They’re going to kill him,” Lucy said to Ethan, tears welling up in her eyes. She started to march off again, but her brother grabbed her hand and held it firm. Lucy shook her head. “Ethan...listen to me...they are going to kill him! And I didn’t get to say goodbye. Ethan, they didn’t even let me say goodbye!”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Huck pointed to a big and black concert grand piano, walked over to it, and ran his hand over the top of the open lid. It was the most majestic piece of musical equipment Grant had ever seen. It had an ebony gloss finish and the keys were achingly pristine.

  “I hear you play,” the old man said to Grant.

  With his hands shoved deep in his pockets, Grant shrugged. He tried to take in the full grandeur of the entire room. Ornate, detailed, with beautiful touches—and a view of the shore, just out of reach. Bookshelves held large leather-bound volumes of classic literature, and the walls held frames for an array of artwork and photographs. It was stately, clean, and classic.

  Hanging on one of the closest walls was a prominent frame with a wrinkled drawing that looked not unlike the Kymberlin towers. Large pillars rose from the ocean shaded in muted colors. Someone had tried to iron out the creases, but it was worse for wear: dirt-smeared, a dollop of red rust in the corner, wrinkles running through the penciled labels.

  “I guess?” Grant answered Huck like a question. He looked at the man’s eagerness and cleared his throat. “I mean, yes. Sometimes. I play.”

  The guards had dumped him into the room without fanfare—led him past Huck’s young secretary—and left him to fend for himself against the leader, who had been sitting alone at a big oak desk covered in papers. He rose when he saw Grant and had walked straight over to him and pointed to the piano. No other salutation, no niceties. The time for that had passed.

  “Play something for me,” Huck said, and he reached down and pulled out the piano stool, patting it and motioning for Grant to sit.

  “I’m not that good,” Grant tried to defer, but he realized that Huck was not going to take no for an answer.

  “I don’t play at all,” Huck replied with a gentle smile. “Even if you play Mary Had a Little Lamb, I’m sure it would sound amazing on this piano.”

  Grant slid onto the bench and ran his fingers over the keys lightly, and he played a chord to hear the richness of the vibrations. He thought of the song he had made up in Leland Pine’s living room. The notes had just come to him then and they had fallen right into place. It was a sad sort of melody, with strong minor chords: a reflection on his sadness at the time, his longing and worry. He closed his eyes and tried to remember how it started, and as soon as his fingers began to play, the song came back. He played and played, with his eyes closed, forgetting Huck was listening, forgetting everything except the ivory keys and the feeling of his foot against the pedal.

  When he finished, he kept his hands on the piano for a long time, and then slid them into lap, afraid to look up.

  “That was,” Huck started, and then he dropped his voice to a whisper, “simply amazing. Did you write that?”

  Grant nodded.

  “Beautiful.” Huck shook his head. “I’m impressed.”

  “It’s just chords,” Grant replied. “It’s just an illusion. Like a parlor trick.”

  “And so humble, too.” Huck laughed and tapped Grant on the shoulder, pointing toward a chair by his desk.

  He wasn’t trying to be humble. Once his mother took him to a special show in Portland. It was right downtown, the big illuminated Portland sign on Broadway welcoming them into the heart of the city. They came to listen to a piano player who wore a perfectly tailored tuxedo with tails that hung off the bench; he sat under a solo spotlight playing the great composers with wild abandon. It was the most remarkable thing Grant had ever heard. His mother had listened to the entire concert with her eyes closed and her hands white-knuckling the program. When he wasn’t watching the man play, he was watching her.

  She died not too long after that. A year, maybe two.

  He would never play the piano the way that pianist had.

  “Blair told me that you saved her life.”

  Grant found the courage to look at Huck. He was almost entirely gray, and wrinkles were deeply etched into his forehead. There was a pair of glasses on his desk, untouched, atop a stack of manila file folders. Grant couldn’t imagine what kind of paperwork Huck needed to review.

  “I don’t remember it that way,” Grant replied honestly. “She saved my life, probably.”

  “That’s not the story I heard,” Huck pushed.

  “It was messy down there. It’s hard to remember what happened and what didn’t.” He stopped. “I’m just trying to be accurate...”

  Maybe it was a trap, he thought.

  “I see.” Huck turned his chair to face away from Grant and look out over the ocean. They were high above the sea; Grant felt wary of the building, as if a strong gust of wind would topple them straight over. “You are an enigma, my dear Grant. Do you realize the issues you’ve created?”

  “No. Not really,” Grant answered honestly.

  “You have no family.”

  He thought of his dad. Waiting for him. He wanted to tell Huck right then: I do have a family. I have a father who came all this way for me. “I have Lucy.”

  “What if you and Lucy have a falling out? It could happen, you are young. Although I’m sure you cannot see that now. But then, without a girlfriend to keep you grounded, you lose sight of this visionary world...and then you want out. What then?”

>   “I want to marry Lucy,” Grant said. Then he regretted giving Huck those words, the specialness of them, the meaning they had for him. And he looked to the ground again, wishing he could take it back and keep that desire for himself a little while longer.

  Huck hummed a sigh. “Marry her? How quaint and old-fashioned. And so very romantic and sweet,” he said. “And when you picture your future with our darling and passionate Lucy King...do you see yourself here? On my Islands?”

  “Yes, I think I do,” Grant answered, unsure of what he was supposed to say to keep himself alive.

  “It’s a future you could support.” Huck didn’t say it like a question and Grant shuffled his feet again along the dotted carpet. “Well, this is a beautiful place to stay...a home you could be proud of. Don’t you think?”

  “Yes,” Grant replied. “But, you know, what will you say when people want to leave?” he asked.

  “Leave?” Huck repeated as if he didn’t understand the question. “No, no. That’s not the plan. The earth must heal—”

  “No one will ever want to leave?” Grant looked at Huck and tried not to look as incredulous as he felt. Yes, Kymberlin was a gorgeous architectural feat; its scientific advances were the things of Grant’s dad’s science fiction books. It felt warm and light, even if people were still wearing blue jeans and not starchy white uniforms with imbedded tracking systems or walking around with robot best friends. He thought about those who had arrived here and may not have viewed their watery home as a viable living space for generations.

  “Where?” Huck said. “Where are they? These people who don’t want to stay here. I don’t have people lined up to see me with complaints...my appointment book is empty of dissenting voices.”

  “I don’t know,” Grant said as he shifted from one foot to another.

  “They don’t exist, Grant. The people on my Islands, some of them have been part of this process for a long time. They gave up a different life to be here, and it was a sacrifice they made willingly. They said goodbye to friends and family and familiar comforts and agreed to join this journey. They are not here out of force. They are here of their own free will. And don’t you think that’s the difference between them and you?”

  Huck turned his chair back around. His hands were in his lap, and he paused, expecting Grant to challenge him.

  “Wait, what’s different?” Grant asked. “I’m not here of my own free will?”

  He felt like a student expected to know the answer about something they hadn’t studied: caught in class, with all eyes on him, hoping to have someone let him off the hook.

  “Grant.” Huck kept saying his name, pulling him in with his soft tones and his generous manner. A hundred extra pounds and a big fluffy beard and Huck could be Santa Claus. “My people want to stay here. My people. Each generation after this one will want to stay without dissent because their families will cultivate our creed, our mission. My world has everything they could need...”

  “But you don’t want me to stay?” Grant asked him. If Lucy were here, she would have challenged Huck, and pushed back on his idealized creation. She would have pointed out that his subjects lacked freedom, and she would have questioned his motives. He wished he could put her in his pocket and carry her around with him, and if he needed her voice and her words, he could call on her to take over. This conversation was exhausting him and he felt confused. He didn’t know what Huck wanted him to say and yet, somehow, he knew his time here was coming to a close.

  “Do you want to stay?” Huck asked, leaning forward. “Or if I gave you the option to go back...live outside my walls, do it on your own...would you do it?”

  Grant could sense the trap this time. He coughed and looked Huck in the eye. “There is nothing for me anywhere else,” he said. “My only chance for a home is here. With Lucy. And I’ve earned it.”

  “How? By saving my daughter’s life? Which you say you don’t remember...”

  “No, because...” Grant stumbled. He looked back over to the beautiful piano. It was the first time he had ever played a piano that nice; first time he had seen one up close and not on a stage. Sometimes he went to the music stores downtown and played their pianos until someone, usually a mousy employee with bad facial hair, kindly asked him to move on. The upright piano at his house was out of tune and rundown, six of the keys were dead, and the pedal stuck. “I don’t have a reason,” he admitted. “I don’t have answers...”

  “Because you don’t really want to be here,” Huck replied, snapping his fingers as if he caught Grant in an elaborate lie.

  “I do,” Grant said. He did. He didn’t. If his father wasn’t alive, if Darla wasn’t waiting for Teddy, if Lucy seemed content, then of course he’d stay where there was luxury and safety. Food and comfort. The world’s best doctors, scientists, thinkers, builders. And if he left, what was waiting for him back on land? Disease, devastation, and disaster. His dad. Darla. Freedom from feeling like his life was constantly in danger.

  “We’ll see,” Huck replied. He opened up one of the manila folders and put it under his arm. “Follow me.”

  Looking out the large picture window one last time, hoping for a glimmer of the amusement park, Grant turned. Dark clouds were rolling in from the ocean and settling over the shore. All that Grant could see were vague outlines of hills, and nothing else.

  “A summer storm,” Huck said. “Good for waves.”

  Grant assumed that meant something; he shuffled out of the room and into an adjoining one with no windows, just a long metal table. Huck placed the thick folder on the table with a splat and then let his hand linger on top of the stack.

  “It’s a test. Take your time.” Huck left. There was a thick click of a lock sliding into place. Grant checked the door, extending his hand out and turning the knob, but it didn’t budge. Without any other option, he went back to the folder and opened up his test. In front of him were pages and pages of questions about situational ethics, his past histories, and his loyalties to friends. Grant flipped through, answering honestly and thinking of Lucy. And then to his father and the promise he had made him.

  “I’ll come back,” Grant had said.

  He hoped he could make that promise come true.

  It took him an hour, and when he finished, the door opened magically, as if the room itself sensed his completion. He stuck his head out into the small space and saw Huck’s secretary waiting. She didn’t have a computer or a phone; she simply sat with a robotic interest in the cheery robin’s egg blue wallpaper that covered the walls.

  “Oh. You’re done,” she said and tapped her desk three times. Grant stood on his toes and looked over the blank expanse, noticing that she had a computer inside her desk, visible only to her at her angle in the chair. “Okay, you may go in,” she announced and closed out of the screen.

  “That’s fancy,” Grant said, pointing at the desk.

  “Uh-huh,” she answered in a chipper voice, her eyes narrowing. “Very fancy.”

  He backed away and walked back into Huck’s office; the lights had dimmed since he had left, and Huck stood looking out his window again—his back to Grant.

  “I finished,” Grant announced, and he stepped forward with the papers, his hands outstretched.

  “Put them on the desk,” Huck answered him without turning.

  “And then can I go?”

  It started small at first, barely audible, and then it grew into a roar—a loud, hoarse laugh. And when Huck turned, his shoulders rolling, he put his hands across his stomach as though the laughing was tearing him apart from the inside out. “No,” Huck said, calming down. He walked to Grant and snatched the test from his hands and flipped through the pages. “No. No. You may not go.” He let one single page fall to the floor. “Generous. Kind. A real people-pleaser you are.” Another page fluttered to the ground. “Trusting.” Huck spat the word like a curse and tossed a third page to the floor. “Optimistic. Sensitive.”

  Instinctively, Grant moved backward toward
the door as the test created a trail of white along Huck’s carpet. With a flurry of movement, Huck tossed the entire stack of multiple choice questions and short answers into the air, and the rustling sheets sounded like wind through the trees as they danced and fluttered around him before landing still.

  “Did I do it wrong?” Grant asked, his voice had weakened by Huck’s display.

  “No,” the old man answered sadly.

  “I’m sorry,” he replied. “I don’t understand. I can do it again.”

  The door swung open behind him and Grant felt cool air rush forward at hit the nape of his neck.

  “What’s the emergen—” Scott said as he tumbled into the room holding a small first aid box in gloved hands. “Grant. What’s Grant doing here?” Scott walked right past him and into the center of the room, staring at Huck with his mouth drawn tight. “You said it was an emergency.”

  “Dispose of him,” Huck commanded. “Do it quickly. No mess. My carpet is brand new.”

  “No,” Grant breathed and he took another step backward toward the door. He had expected it. He had waited for this moment, and yet he couldn’t believe it was happening. He looked to Scott and shook his head. “Wait—”

  “You called me down here to infect Grant?” Scott asked again. He pointed his hand behind his body, but kept his eyes on his boss. “But Grant—”

  “Survived,” Huck said. “And we discussed this earlier, don’t act so surprised.”

  “We discussed the issue of his survival, but we didn’t decide on a solution,” Scott answered. “Huck, this is a Board decision at this juncture. People know he’s back...”

  “The news of Copia must not spread!”

  “He won’t tell anyone!” Scott pleaded.

  Grant watched them.

  “Your power on the Board has been stripped. Effective immediately,” Huck said. He walked over the paper on the floor and it crinkled under his feet. “You have committed treason against the Elektos. Grant was supposed to die twice in the System and he has survived, and while I understand why...” Huck paused as if he were going to give a chance for Scott to explain, but when Scott opened his mouth, he continued. “You don’t want to break Lucy’s heart. You’ve let some short-sighted teenage puppy love cloud your judgment.”