S.W. Tanpepper's GAMELAND: Season Two Omnibus (Episodes 9-11)

by Tanpepper, Saul

Except she really didn’t believe it was the flu. She didn’t think anyone had the flu.

  Her mind was spinning its wheels again, unable to find traction in reason and logic.

  She remembered telling Ronnie that there was fever medicine in the cabinet above the fridge. “Two tablespoons.”

  Blood on the door.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” Ronnie kept saying, perhaps sensing Lyssa’s hysteria. “She was outside all morning. I brought her inside and tried to make her drink.”

  Broken glass slides.

  The car radio droning on.

  Biohazardous waste.

  She shook her head with an angry growl and turned the radio up. They were talking about some sort of multi-agency police activity in North Patchogue, and Lyssa groaned again. It was on her way home.

  “What the hell is going on out there?” she whispered.

  It was strange. That whole area near Medford had become a hotbed of weirdness lately, and for once she was glad she’d asked Ronnie not to watch Cassie at her place but instead at the house.

  She was still on the stretch of 25 that didn’t see much traffic, but the interchange for 495 was quickly coming up. The radio hadn’t reported any problems impacting the highway, but she thought it might be prudent to consider an alternate route.

  In moments such as this, Ramon would be quick with a recommendation, whether she wanted it or not. He was decisive by nature and resolute in his decisions. It was one of the things she’d initially found attractive about him. Lately, though, she saw it as something different: a stubborn obsession with control. So it wasn’t surprising when his voice intruded on her thoughts. Stay on 25.

  The road paralleled the highway and would take her straight home, but it went through more towns and was interrupted with stop lights.

  If there’s trouble, avoid the highway.

  She wished he’d just shut the hell up.

  She passed the turnoff which would keep her on 25, opting instead to stick to her usual route. If worse came to worse, there were other detours she could take later on.

  The blood on the door. It might be Cassie’s.

  She shoved the thought away. It wasn’t doing her any good to dwell on it. She’d get home and ask her if she’d been cut. No, she’d do her own inspection, like before. That way she could be absolutely sure.

  Should’ve tested the blood.

  Well, it was too late for that now.

  The traffic merging onto the 495 exchange was moving smoothly. There were no backups.

  Not yet. Should’ve taken 25.

  “Should’ve moved to a closer town when we had the chance,” she argued at the imaginary Ramon.

  There was a time when they’d talked about buying a house closer to the lab, somewhere in the nicer part of Yaphank, or possibly as far east as Manorville — even though that seemed much too close to the Marine base at Riverhead — or possibly as far west as Medford. But then she’d conceived and, for a while, the pregnancy was all that dominated their thoughts.

  You were the one who shelved any plans to move.

  That’s because the third trimester had been rough on her. The contractions came on early and suddenly. After a long twenty hours of labor fraught with complications, of panicked moments of fetal distress and excessive bleeding, after cocktails of drugs which made her nauseous and hyper, they finally took the scalpel to her and opened her up. She felt as if she was being torn in two.

  But suddenly Remy was there, strong and healthy, his skin blue beneath the waxy sheen of the vernix, though quickly blushing bright red as he began to breathe. They wiped her blood away from his skin before holding him up for Lyssa to see. She was in terrible pain. But the sight of him was all the medicine she needed to feel whole again.

  Poor Remy. How could a baby be born so healthy fail so quickly? His death had struck a devastating blow.

  Now, two months later, it still seemed as if their whole lives were being held in some sort of suspended animation. There was no more talk about a new house. It was all just work. Meanwhile, the marriage, the family, everything suffered.

  Lyssa had her own emotional problems in the weeks leading up to the delivery, but they had only grown worse afterward. The difficulty she was having getting past the pain of losing their son affected them all. She knew it. Problems which would almost certainly benefit from professional help. And yet she resisted.

  Rame had told her he was concerned about her wellbeing, about her ability to cope. About her seeming unwillingness to fix herself and their marriage. He went to see a therapist on his own— not that it seemed to help him any. He was also in denial. He refused to properly mourn their son.

  She’d been the one to demand the trial separation, a couple weeks after coming home from the hospital. It was a regrettable mistake, of course, prompted by the fight over the solar panels. The argument had left poor Cassie terrorized, huddled in her bed with that rabbit of hers. And the dog.

  That stupid dog, getting into things it’s not supposed to!

  Lyssa smacked the steering wheel with the palm of her hand, accidentally hitting the horn. The driver beside her turned, a surprised and confused look on his face.

  The worst part about it all was that Ramon hadn’t even tried to argue with her about leaving, had instead gone right out and gotten an apartment the very next day, as if he’d been waiting for just the excuse. And in Medford, of all places! Just around the corner — well, okay, several corners — from where Ronnie lived. What the hell did he think he was playing at? Was that why he’d complained about getting Ronnie in the first place, so Lyssa wouldn’t suspect anything?

  There’s nothing to suspect. Nothing’s going on between them.

  She wished she could be sure.

  And then the look on his face just a few weeks later when she told him Cassie wanted him to come back. She could sense his dissatisfaction, even over the phone, but he’d grudgingly conceded. Like he was only doing it for Cassie’s benefit, not hers. And certainly not for his.

  Her attention was drawn back to the drive by the abrupt appearance of red lights beyond her hood. She slammed on the brakes, cursing when her purse thumped to the floor beside her. Her phone slipped out and settled into the far corner.

  I should try to call, see how they’re doing.

  She considered whether she could take a moment and lean over and grab it. Ronnie needed to know about the delay, and traffic was at a standstill anyway. What would be the risk?

  But that’s when the first Army truck barreled past her on the shoulder, black smoke spewing from the stack behind the cab.

  Hanging out of the back were at least a dozen men, all of them equipped in full riot gear, rifles propped between their knees. Real marines out of Riverhead, not the implanted and controlled ones which made up the Omegaman Force.

  The looks on the faces of the soldiers were serious, conveying a message that they weren’t going out on another of their frequent training exercises.

  Shit, Lyssa thought, as it passed and was followed by two more trucks, each similarly manned. Shit shit shit!

  Should’ve stayed on 25.

  She hated when Ramon was right. Even if it was just the version of him inside her own head.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Cassie’s asleep. She’s fine, just a little dehydrated.”

  “Thanks, Ronnie.” Lyssa dropped her purse onto the floor in the hallway and nodded once, curtly. “Sorry it took so long. I think I’ll go check on her now.” She swept past the sitter and stepped into the hallway, her attention already drawn to the upstairs bedroom.

  “I shouldn’t have worried you. It was just—”

  “It’s all right, Ronnie. Really. I’m home. You can go on now.”

  Ronnie stood frozen for a moment. Her eyes stung from the rebuke. She blinked several times, as if it might erase the sting of Lyssa’s brusqueness. “All right then. I’ll just— I guess I’ll just go.”

  But Lyssa had already disappeared around the
corner. Ronnie could hear her climbing the stairs, could feel the reproach coming off of her like heat, even from so far away.

  She’s just scared for her daughter. After what happened to their baby . . . .

  Now she was second-guessing herself, and she shouldn’t.

  The vomiting was what had most scared her, coming on so quickly. It had only been a little bit, but still.

  You should’ve just insisted Cassie come in sooner. Be the damn adult!

  Instead, she’d allowed the six-year-old to take control, to get her own way. Well, never again. From now on, Cassie would do what she was told, and pronto. Or there wouldn’t be any rabbit inside the house during the day. And no dog, either.

  If you even get another chance.

  She sighed and looked around her, wondering where the puppy had gotten to.

  Upstairs, most likely. The darn thing just adored the girl, although why it did was beyond comprehension. Cassie completely ignored it.

  With a grunt of pent-up frustration, Ronnie pushed herself away from the washing machine she’d been leaning on, quietly shut the accordion doors on the laundry alcove, then fetched her backpack from the living room. She stopped to listen at the base of the stairs, but all was quiet in Cassie’s room.

  Right, she thought. She desperately hoped this little incident didn’t jeopardize her job with the Stemples. She needed the money to pay for classes and art supplies. But if the axe fell, she knew Lyssa wouldn’t be the one to do it. The call would come later in the evening, after Ramon got home. According to Cassie, he hadn’t wanted a nanny in the first place and was probably looking for any excuse to fire her.

  And he’d be right to do so. What happened today was your own fault.

  She knew it. But she did need the money.

  * * *

  Lyssa slipped silently into the darkened bedroom and found Cassie asleep on top of the bed, her shirt twisted and limbs akimbo. The air in the room had a stale quality to it, smelling strongly of sweat and grass, faintly of bile. The girl’s knees and elbows were stained green. Lyssa’s heart fluttered as she waited for a sign of life. Finally, the girl’s chest rose and fell. The clamp which had tightened around Lyssa’s chest ratcheted open a tiny bit.

  Beside her on the bed, Shinji lifted his head, then laid it back down again. Once again Lyssa decided to allow it for the time being. She didn’t want to risk waking Cassie. Not just yet.

  “You’re abusing your privilege, you nasty dog,” she whispered, and Shinji groaned.

  With her hand shaking, Lyssa reached out. She drew to within an inch of her daughter’s face before pulling back. She’s so small, so frail. She almost feared that her daughter might simply vanish upon contact, that her body would turn to powder and blow away at the slightest breeze. Or breath. Or thought.

  Of course that’s not going to happen.

  Still, she hesitated, despite the current of panic flowing inside of her.

  With the backs of her fingers, she gently pressed them against the girl’s forehead, and a little more of the tension inside of her bled away. The skin was cool, as was the tender area on her neck. Cold, in fact. And Lyssa realized for the first time since walking inside that the whole house was like a refrigerator.

  Ronnie’s cranked up the air conditioner.

  She ran her hands over her own arms, now covered in goose bumps, and shivered. The sensation was almost painful.

  On the bedside table was a pad of paper with a careful record of Cassie’s temperature and medicine. The first notation was just after two-thirty, just before Ronnie had called Lyssa at work. The most recent was at six-forty, after Ronnie had woken Cassie to give her something to drink. A plastic bottle sat beside the pad, half filled with a blue liquid and a pink straw poking out the top.

  Lyssa checked the time on her phone. It was just after eight-thirty. Cassie’d been asleep for over five hours. She had to be hungry.

  Soon.

  There was something she needed to verify first.

  Ever so carefully, she lifted each of her daughter’s arms and legs in sequence and inspected the skin for cuts. But other than a set of thin pink welts on the inside of one of her arms — scrapes from the rabbit’s back feet — she found no new wounds. Nothing under her shirt on her belly, either. Nothing on her feet or face or neck.

  And finally the clamp which had been strangling her for the last six hours came fully away. She took a deep breath and sat down on the bed. The relief was so powerful that she felt like crying.

  As if sensing her distress, Shinji crawled across Cassie’s legs toward her, whimpering softly.

  “Naughty dog,” Lyssa whispered, though not without some affection. The thing was working its way beneath her skin, despite Lyssa’s residual anger and her resolve not to let it get to her. She checked the pads of his feet and found no cuts there, either. “I guess the blood really was old,” she quietly told him. “Lucky you.”

  “Mama?” Cassie stirred.

  “It’s me, honey.” She pulled a strand of hair from the girl’s face. “I’m home now, sweetie.”

  “It’s getting dark.”

  In the few minutes since she’d come in, most of the daylight had fled from the sky. Dusk filled the window, tinting it dark purple. The brightest light in the room came from the stairwell at the end of the hallway.

  “I left as soon as Miss Ronica called me. I wanted to come quicker, but the traffic was terrible.”

  The image of the helicopters passing overhead and the emergency vehicles roaring past on the shoulder of the highway flashed back to her. She’d been so terrified, so desperate to get home that her mind had refused to process it all, but now that she could see more clearly, she found herself puzzled by all the activity. Where had they been going? What was happening? The last five hours were little more than a blur.

  Later, she’d go downstairs and see what the news had to say about it. But for now, she was home, and Cassie was safe.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Cassie didn’t answer right away. Her eyes flickered, then lost focus, as if she were remembering something of her own. After a bit, she asked about her father.

  “He’ll be here soon. Drink some of this. You need to replace—”

  The telephone rang.

  “That’s probably him. Now, I mean it, Cassie,” she said, standing up off the bed. “You need to drink more of this.”

  She reached the downstairs phone just as the answering machine clicked on and began to play. “I’m here,” she shouted. “Hello?”

  She stabbed futilely at the STOP button.

  “I’m here! Hold on.”

  Ramon’s outgoing message completed, but the beep died when the power went out in the house.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “Hello?” Lyssa shouted into the phone. “Hello? Ramon, is that you?”

  She thought she could hear someone breathing on the other end of the line, something rustling against the phone.

  “Mama?” Cassie called from upstairs.

  “It’s all right, honey. It’s just the power went out. Stay where you are and I’ll be right up.”

  She pressed the phone against her ear. “Who is this?”

  Silence.

  “Listen, if this is some kind of joke—”

  “Leave Long Island,” a raspy voice whispered. “Get away while you can. Hurry.”

  Lyssa felt her strength leak away from her legs.

  “H-hello?”

  Nothing.

  “Drew?”

  But the line was dead.

  She spun blindly around, orienting herself on the reflections of light filtering in through the kitchen window. She remembered there was a flashlight in the junk drawer by the stove. It felt like miles away through the darkness, a black sea to swim through and hidden dangers lurking in the depths of the shadows.

  “Stupid,” she chastised herself, propelling herself forward. “Letting yourself get spooked like— Ow! Shit!”

  The phone flew
from her hand and clattered away across the floor.

  “Mama?”

  “I’m okay. I just hurt myself a little.”

  Damn near fucking broke my toe!

  She groped into the darkness and righted the offending chair before resuming her trek across the room, limping and grunting with pain. At least the flashlight was exactly where it was supposed to be. She snatched it out, found the switch, flicked it on.

  Nothing happened.

  Shit! God damn Ramon!

  Shaking it didn’t help. Neither did banging it against her palm.

  Stupid piece of shit!

  She tossed it into the sink, then leaned against the edge panting.

  She could only see a small wedge of the street in front. The lamps were dark, glowing only faintly, a residual spark of light, ghostly glows. The few houses she could see when she strained her neck were unlit.

  No hum from the fridge’s compressor. No welcoming blue light from the microwave.

  “So much for the damn solar panels,” she muttered bitterly.

  She found some emergency tea lights under the sink, which she lit after finding a book of matches in the same drawer as the flashlight. In the wan glow, she inspected her forefinger, injured on something sharp while fumbling through the drawer. A drop of blood, black in the darkness. She stuck it in her mouth and sucked. Her toe throbbed and felt swollen, but she didn’t think it was broken.

  From the first candle, she lit a second. Leaving one on the kitchen table, she slipped into the hallway, treading carefully so the tiny flame wouldn’t blow out. Shadows danced on the walls.

  All was silent but the hush of her feet on the carpet. She heard not a peep from Cassie upstairs.

  Now into the back living room, the sliding glass door reflecting the tiny glow back at her — the glistening of her eyes, her wan face, the shadows beneath her chin — making her appear bruised and battered. Beyond the glass, the darkness seemed impenetrable.

  She sensed that something was out there, could feel it watching her. Waiting.

  Nothing’s back there. The whole yard’s fenced in.

  Fenced and gated, but not locked.