by Tarah Benner
Jayden looks startled. She sits up a little straighter and swallows several times.
This is new. In all the interactions I’ve had with her, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look nervous.
“Sir?”
“What I would like to know is why all your efforts to exterminate the drifter leaders have been so ineffectual.”
“They’re difficult to weed out, sir, but we’re making progress.”
“How’s that? As far as I can tell, you just let the most promising lead off your hook.”
Jayden’s face drains of color, and a strained silence falls over the group.
“Now, why is it that you released Lieutenant Parker from custody?”
“We didn’t have a choice, sir.”
“How’s that?”
“We received an anonymous message from a source that knew all about the outbreak at 119. If we didn’t release Parker —”
“Are you telling me we lost Parker because somebody was blackmailing us?”
“In a manner of speaking . . .”
“You’re telling me that an unknown individual in this compound has effectively castrated this division by using classified information against us?”
Jayden is blinking furiously, and I can tell she just shit the bed in a big way. “N-not completely unknown.”
“Oh?”
“We have a pretty good idea who’s behind it.”
There’s a long pause, and then the person on speaker breaks into derisive laughter.
When he stops, he sounds as though he’s struggling to speak. “Do you hear that, folks? We have a ‘pretty good idea’ who’s behind this blackmail. That’s what passes for espionage in this compound these days. What a sad day for Constance.”
“It’s Shane Adams, sir,” Jayden interjects.
In the last few seconds, her face has undergone a stunning shift in coloring — from pale white to bright red. Everyone around the table is avoiding eye contact in shame.
“So why is he still thumbing his nose at the law down in Neverland? Why didn’t you take care of the problem instead of letting Parker out of our custody?”
Jayden doesn’t say a word.
“I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation, Commander. We know the drifters are about to bring ever-living hell down on this compound. We don’t know how; we don’t know when. But we do know that lives will be lost — that lives have already been lost — in the name of preserving the civilized human race. We’re going to need a scapegoat.”
“Ozias —”
He cuts her off. “People have no mercy for traitors, Commander. People don’t forgive traitors. And the fact that you let Parker off for treason is unconscionable. It makes this compound’s leadership look corrupt — or worse . . . weak.”
“Parker has been stripped of his title, sir . . . and relegated to ExCon,” says the freckly lieutenant next to Jayden.
I hear an angry huff from one of the ExCon men, and the lieutenant shifts uncomfortably.
“Oh, good,” says Ozias, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “So now we have a disgruntled former operative with nothing to lose poisoning the minds of our most vulnerable workers. That was smart.”
I didn’t think it was possible for Jayden to grow any redder, but miraculously she does.
“I think it goes without saying that this situation was outrageously mismanaged, Commander. I have half a mind to ask you to join Parker out in the solar fields.”
Jayden looks genuinely panicked now.
“All right,” he says with an exasperated sigh. “Let me make one thing clear: The next time someone threatens this division . . . the next time someone tries to control how the game is played . . . we do not give that individual a chance to breathe a word to anyone.”
Suddenly Jayden combusts. “I don’t think you understand how much influence Shane Adams has in the compound! He doesn’t just run Neverland, sir. He commands it. If we’d taken Adams out, there would have been hell to pay from EnComm, the black market . . .”
She takes a deep breath. “I made a call. Maybe it was the wrong one, but something had to be done to keep those files from 119 under wraps.”
At first I think Jayden’s retort might earn her some respect from the man on the speaker, but then his tone changes from furious to derisive. “Commander, if you’d looked up from sucking his cock long enough to notice what’s going on in your own section, you’d know we’re already in hell.”
Jayden jerks back as though Ozias reached through the speaker and slapped her, and I find myself in the strange position of feeling sorry for Jayden.
Ozias continues. “We’re losing control of the drifter situation. Strike that: We have lost control out on the Fringe. If we don’t get our house in order fast, we’re going to lose control of our own people. Now, I don’t want to hear this again. We do not bow to any man or law. We are the law.”
Silence falls over the table, and my skin starts to prickle with discomfort.
In that moment, I’m so grateful that I’m a nobody in here. Getting called on by Ozias — whoever he is — is the worst sort of public flagellation I’ve ever witnessed.
The man from Information who spoke before opens his mouth to break the silence, but then the door to the board room bursts open.
A woman I don’t know comes flying in. She’s super hot in an obvious way with big perky boobs, Brazilian sensibilities, and dark eyes framed by long brown hair. Judging by her full-body black cat suit, she must be the missing member from Information.
“Sir, Mina Deltora just came in,” says the other Information guy.
He gives her a “What the fuck?” sort of look, but she’s too panicked and out of breath to care.
“Sir,” she pants.
“Nice of you to join us, Miss Deltora,” says Ozias.
“I’m sorry I’m late, sir. I was monitoring the news feeds to make sure nothing slipped through that we wanted to keep from the public, but . . .” She’s struggling to catch her breath. “I just picked up chatter on the feeds that there’s a viral outbreak within the compound.”
Miraculously, Mina’s words leave Ozias — and everyone else — completely speechless.
The physician from Health and Rehab is the first to recover. “What?”
“The two Recon operatives who went AWOL earlier this year . . . One was recently released from the medical ward. The other was scheduled for release this morning. Apparently they attempted to release live samples of the 119 virus into the compound’s HVAC system. I just got confirmation that one sample was released from the medical ward . . . and there’s another possible transmission from the commissary. It seems to have been a coordinated biological attack.”
In that moment, everything slows down. My vision narrows in on Mina, and a sound like rushing water fills my eardrums.
Sawyer is in the medical ward. She’s always in the medical ward.
“That’s impossible,” splutters Jayden. “I trained Kimber and Xavier myself. They would never do this.”
“They have,” says Mina. “I’m sorry, Commander, but they’ve gone rogue.”
“Have all the infected been quarantined?” asks Ozias in a cool voice.
“Medical personnel and patients who were likely infected have been isolated. Unfortunately, we have no way of knowing how far the virus might have traveled.”
“Where are these rogue operatives now?” Ozias snaps. “I want them brought in and questioned until we know every detail of —”
“We can’t, sir.”
“And why the hell not?”
“The operatives had cyanide capsules hidden in their molars. They released the virus and then killed themselves immediately.”
Ozias swears loudly, and Jayden looks as though she might pass out. “Can you shut this down?” he snaps. “The story at least?”
Mina shakes her head. “It’s all over the feeds, sir. I’ve been taking down posts as quickly as I can, but the story’s gained too much
momentum for me to stop it.”
“How did this get out of the medical ward?” Ozias demands. “Leven, I thought I told you to get your people under control!”
One of the doctors from Health and Rehab looks as though he’s about to piss his pants. I’m sure he thinks he’s about to get dressed down like Jayden.
“It didn’t come from medical-ward personnel,” Mina adds quickly.
“Well, then how has it already spread through the entire compound?”
“Progressive Research released a public service warning. They’ve announced that the virus matches one that devastated 119.”
“They released those records?”
“No. And luckily not many people have asked about 119 yet — just a few whose kids were transferred after Bid Day. I’ve temporarily suspended their interface profiles so they can’t start a panic.”
“Good.”
At the mention of 119, my thoughts go to the drifters . . . and the bizarre conversation I had with my mother: The compound isn’t safe.
Suddenly, it feels as though there isn’t enough air in the cramped board room. Sweat breaks out all over my body, and I feel like throwing up.
She knew about the outbreak.
“So . . . is it safe?” asks the old Control captain.
Anger surges through my chest when I realize that he’s only asking out of fear for his own life.
Mina shoots an uncomfortable glance at the speaker and then swallows as if she’s gearing up to deliver the worst news yet.
“Progressive Research said they can’t rule out a wide-scale outbreak within the compound. It’s too soon to know how far the spores might have spread.”
There’s a loud sigh from the center of the table, and I can almost see Ozias rubbing his wrinkly temple with his fingertips. “What else are they saying?”
Mina takes a deep breath. “They’re saying the compound isn’t equipped to deal with a virus like this. An outbreak like the one at 119 could destroy us all.”
eighteen
Harper
At oh-nine hundred, the supply train rolls through the Underground tunnel, rattling the walls and the flimsy plastic window in my compartment. I know the train is headed to 119, but for once the compound’s grand deception doesn’t bother me.
I’m lying on top of Eli in bed as the dim grayish light from the platform dances over the walls. Our untouched canteen takeout is sitting on my little pull-out table, and our clothes are strewn in a haphazard trail from the door to the bed.
“I could get used to this,” I murmur, rolling off his chest and into the crook of his arm.
“Mmmhmm.”
After watching the sun rise over the compound, we came back to my compartment for round two. Eli is no longer my commanding officer, so I could hold his hand in the tunnel, in the megalift — wherever I wanted. We have no reason to hide our relationship.
“What are you doing today?” I ask tentatively. Eli now works six days a week, and a small girly part of me wants nothing more than to spend the entire day lazing around in bed.
“I have to visit Operations,” he says. “Get everything transferred over to ExCon.”
“Oh,” I say, trying to keep my voice light.
I don’t want him to think I’m disappointed, but Eli knows me too well.
“How about dinner tonight?” he asks. “I’ll come by and we can . . .”
He trails off. Neither of us wants to eat in the canteen and endure the hateful stares from all the people who think we’re traitorous assholes.
“We could grab something in the commissary,” I offer. It’s still a public place, but nearly everyone from Recon who could bother us will be eating in the canteen.
“Deal.”
I scoot toward the end of the bed to grab our breakfast containers and snuggle up next to Eli to eat. I catch him watching me more than once, and the glowing feeling in my chest expands until I think I might burst.
We take our time getting dressed and then head up to the mid-levels. Eli has to visit the office of section placements, and I’m walking up to the tier-one rec center to work out away from the hateful glares of the other cadets.
But as we round the corner to the landing just past the ground level, I nearly smack face-first into a clear plastic partition blocking our path. It spans from the top of the landing to the floor and has the outline of a door in the middle.
“What the hell?”
I stop abruptly, and Eli stumbles into me.
Squinting through the scratched plastic, I see an older Operations man I don’t recognize. He’s got a scraggly gray beard and a shiny bald patch on the top of his head.
“Whoa! Hold it right there,” he says, as if we could keep going through the plastic. His words are slightly muffled by the barrier, and he flips on his interface to try to ID us.
“What’s going on?” snaps Eli as the man scans us.
“We’ve got the lower levels blocked off today.”
“Why?”
“Haven’t you heard?” he asks, gnawing on the toothpick some more. “Viral outbreak. We’re trying to quarantine those who might have been exposed.”
Panic shoots through my veins, and I press my hands up against the plastic. “An outbreak?”
The man nods. “Where you been? They made an announcement to all tier-three workers in the canteen about an hour ago. You need to report to the folks on the ground level.”
“What? Why?”
“I’m just the messenger, sweetheart.”
“What about the other sections?” Eli asks.
“It’s chaos up here, too. EnComm and Health and Rehab are on full lockdown. I think they might even be converting the main hall into an isolation zone for overflow.”
At his mention of Health and Rehab, my heart stutters. “Why is Health and Rehab on lockdown?” I ask, not sure if I really want to know the answer.
“I guess some of your people went a little coo-coo when they were stuck out on the Fringe,” he says grimly. “They released the virus from the medical ward and the commissary. No way to know how far it might have spread.”
I glance up at Eli. My breathing is going haywire, and his worried expression tells me he’s thinking exactly the same thing: If the virus started in the medical ward, Sawyer could have been infected. Not only that, but we could be looking at a repeat of the 119 epidemic.
I reach up to message Sawyer on my interface before remembering that I left it back in my compartment. I turn around and take the stairs two at a time, and Eli jogs down behind me.
I’m almost to Recon when I careen into a short, stocky figure coming up in the opposite direction. Seamus is wearing a flimsy navy vest over his Recon fatigues and a paper mask over his mouth and nose.
“Riley! There you are!”
“You were looking for me?”
“Yes!” he snaps. “We’re rounding up everyone on the ground level. You need to check in ASAP.”
“I just need to grab something from my compartment,” I say, trying to sidestep Seamus.
“No can do,” he says, crossing his arms in that annoying way of his. “Get moving.”
“But —”
“Now! You, too, Parker,” he says, looking up at Eli with a smug expression.
“I’m not even in your section anymore, asshole,” says Eli, giving him a little shove.
“Doesn’t matter.” Seamus catches himself and pulls his weird vest aside to reveal an electric nightstick tucked into a utility belt. “I’m on the emergency crew. We’re isolating all tier-three personnel.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” says Eli.
“Don’t fight me on this, Parker. It’s for your own protection. We’re doing everything we can to keep tier three from getting infected.”
Eli is staring at Seamus with a look of intense dislike on his face, and I’m sure my expression looks about the same.
On the one hand, it makes sense that they’re trying to contain the spread of the virus, but this is r
idiculous. If they’ve blocked off tiers one and two, I’m not sure why they’re rounding up Recon, ExCon, and Waste Management.
“If you don’t go now, you’ll have the controllers to contend with,” Seamus adds.
He’s got that unyielding look in his eyes that every lieutenant has mastered. Eli and I exchange a glance and then turn around and head back up the stairs toward the ground level.
Pushing open the heavy metal door, we’re thrust into utter chaos. The part of the main tunnel leading to the canteen and other public areas has been blocked off by another airtight plastic partition, and the opposite end is crowded with several hundred tier-three workers.
Nearly all the Recon and Waste Management people are in their weekend attire, but half the ExCon guys are dressed in their orange uniforms as though they were just pulled off duty. There’s mass confusion in the tunnel as people search for their loved ones and controllers attempt to herd them toward the main hall.
A dozen or so Operations workers are circulating to calm the crowd and ushering them toward the booths situated along the far wall of the tunnel. Behind the booths, more Operations workers in masks are identifying people and handing out large lumpy bundles.
As I watch, a few dazed workers take the bundles and start shuffling toward the main hall, but this just seems to make the holdouts near the stairwell more defiant. A Waste Management guy is arguing loudly with a controller, trying to gain access to the upper tunnels.
To my right, a crowd of twenty or so workers is being herded off the megalift by controllers brandishing plastic riot shields.
The first thing I notice about the controllers is that they’re wearing full body armor and heavy-duty air filtration masks. The second thing I notice is that they have compact handguns strapped to their belts.
I’ve never seen a controller armed with anything more deadly than an electric nightstick. Their job is to subdue unrest within the compound — not take out people they perceive as a threat. But they’re armed now.
Some of the rougher-looking guys are actively resisting — shouting and pointing fingers at the controllers. A pair of Recon women I don’t know are crying, and the rest are looking around in confusion.
