Inhuman

8

In the dim glow from my dial, Everson did a quick search of the shelves and tossed me a gauze pad. “Press it to your cut. It’ll slow the bleeding.”

I gingerly did as he said and was rewarded with a throb of pain. Trapped and bleeding. Just when I didn’t have a minute to spare. “Who was that scumbag?”

Everson ran his hands over the wall on either side of the door. “A thief who’s turned Arsenal into his own personal Quickie-mart.” He gave up patting down the wall and crouched beside me. “The light switch must be outside the closet.” He nodded to my arm. “Show me.”

I lifted the bloody wad of gauze and bit back a cry. That savage had sliced a nasty three-inch cut into my arm. What passed for civilized over here? Not eating your neighbor?

“Could be worse.” Everson snagged a bottle of hydrogen peroxide from a shelf.

“That’s comforting,” I grouched. At least my tetanus vaccination was up to date.

“You could’ve gotten knifed in the gut, like the cook’s assistant. His mistake? Walking into the pantry while Rafe was cleaning it out last month.”

Okay, yes, that was worse. But I still wasn’t happy about having an open wound this close to the Feral Zone.

“Can your dial go brighter?” He ripped open a new gauze pad.

I lifted my dial, remembering only then that it had been recording the whole time. This was going to make a heck of a movie — if I survived to edit it. With a tap of my finger, I made the screen glow with emerald light — not as bright as a flashlight, but enough to see by.

Everson crouched next to me where I was sitting against the door — all the other walls were lined with shelves. He gently took my forearm and tilted it. I winced as he poured peroxide over the cut and watched as he neatly wiped away the excess froth with gauze. His movements were steady and efficient as he bent over my arm to bandage it, I’d always thought crew cuts were ugly — still did — but I was tempted to brush my palm over his hair just to see how it felt. Soft or bristly?

He sat back and caught me staring. I tugged my arm away and pretended to try to activate the dial’s call function.

“It won’t work as a phone,” he said, standing to reshelve the supplies. “The patrol jams the signal. We’re not allowed to have dials or cameras — nothing that can record. Actually, I should confiscate that.” He walked toward me, and I clutched the dial protectively. “But lucky for you, I’m only a guard on the outside.” He stepped over me to get to the door.

“What are you on the inside?” I asked.

He started pounding, trying to attract someone’s attention. Guess I wasn’t going to get an answer.

After a while with no results, he gave up. “I brought Jia here so the medics could work on the guy. I left her asleep in one of the empty beds.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “I need to get her to the orphan camp before someone finds her and sends her back across the bridge.”

“Is she okay? Not … grupped?”

He sank down beside me, his shoulder brushing mine. “She tested clean. So did the man, according to the medic. But it might be too late for him. He lost a lot of blood.”

And here I’d been feeling resentful about the passing time. Yes, every hour mattered if my dad was going to escape execution, but for the man who’d been mauled, minutes meant the difference between life and death. The air in the closet suddenly tasted stale.

I tugged down my sleeve to cover the bandage, even though I was starting to feel sweaty. “How come we know nothing about what’s going on over here?”

“Titan makes sure of it.” He leaned back, one leg outstretched, not seeming to care that we were trapped in a cramped closet together. “All of our communication is monitored — radio calls, letters. And those are just to other bases. We’re not allowed to talk to civilians while we’re stationed east of the wall.” He glanced at me, a hint of a smile on his lips. “So, I’m incurring some serious infractions right now.”

Was he flirting with me? Not a chance. Robots didn’t flirt. “What about when you go home? What’s to stop you from talking then?”

“Our mission is categorized critical-sensitive. If a guard reveals anything about what he did or saw over here, he’ll be court-martialed.”

Sitting with our shoulders and legs touching felt strange. Awkward. Maybe line guards got used to living up close and personal on the base, but I sure wasn’t used to it. I rarely brushed against anyone other than my dad and Howard. If I slid over, would Everson notice? Would he care?

I rubbed my damp palms on my pants, but stayed put. Why risk offending the only line guard on my side? “How come no one noticed the mutated humans running around before the wall went up?”

“It didn’t start happening until a few years after the wall was finished. During the first wave, if you caught Ferae, you went psychotic and died within days. We’re seeing more of the nonlethal strain now because when the host survives, he goes on to infect more people.”

“Okay.” I crossed my legs and twisted to face him. “But why’s the patrol keeping that secret? So what if we know that people don’t die from Ferae anymore, that they … mutate?” I choked on the word.

“It’s not just the patrol. People in the government know, but they contracted Titan to secure the quarantine line, so they’re following Titan’s protocol.”

“And they’re all keeping quiet about the ferals because … ?” I pressed.

“Think about how fast the exodus happened. A lot of people left without being able to get ahold of family members in other cities and states. By now, they’re assumed long dead. If people start to think there’s a chance their relatives are still alive, they’ll want to go looking for them. They’ll try like crazy to get past the wall and make it impossible to keep the quarantine line secure.” Everson shot me a look. “When you’re worried about someone you love, you don’t care about anyone else’s health — sometimes not even your own.”

Ouch.

I sat back against the door to avoid his gaze. He had a point, but as soon as we got out of this closet, I was going to cross the last bridge. I’d just have to deal with the guilt … and the ferals. Suddenly something Everson had said in the office came back to me. “If Dr. Solis has eighteen strains of Ferae, does that mean people can mutate into eighteen different kinds of animals?”

“Fifty. You can only get infected once, but there are fifty strains of Ferae, each carrying the DNA of a different animal. Until Dr. Solis has a sample of all of them, he can’t even begin to develop a vaccine.”

“If he doesn’t have them all, how does he know there are fifty strains out there?”

Everson looked at his long fingers, which dangled off his knee. “You know where the virus came from, right?”

I nodded. I knew our country’s history. “Titan created it in a lab. They were going to add cool animal hybrids to the mazes in their theme parks.” I couldn’t help sounding excited about it — it did sound fun — but Everson slanted a cranky look at me. “And then some fringe group bombed Titan’s labs,” I went on, “and the infected animals escaped. In reparation, Titan built the wall.”

“The wall was a PR move,” he scoffed.

“I still don’t get how Dr. Solis knows there are fifty strains.”

“When the plague began, Titan’s CEO, Isla Prejean, made Titan’s research available to the scientific community. She was hoping that someone could find a way to stop the spread of infection. That’s how we know there are fifty strains.” Everson’s jaw tightened. “If we’re ever going to reclaim the eastern half of our country, we need a vaccine. Better yet, a cure. And we’re never going to develop either if someone doesn’t go deeper into the Feral Zone and find people infected with the strains that we’re missing.”

“Then what? You’d bring those people here?”

“No. All Dr. Solis needs is a sample of their blood.”

My brows rose. “Good luck collecting that.”

“It’s dangerous, yeah. But I’d go. I volunteered.”

“The patrol won’t let you?”

“The brass won’t even consider it. They say our job is to secure the quarantine line, not cross it.”

“Why doesn’t the president send in the army?” Even before I finished asking it, I knew the answer. “Because our military is a joke.” Anyone who wanted to enlist these days usually chose to work for a private security force, like the line patrol. Not only did corporate militias pay better, they also had state-of-the-art weapons, equipment, and training centers.

“The national armed forces aren’t a joke,” Everson said sternly. “Every branch lost more than half their people during the outbreak because they were stationed in hot zones, trying to contain the spread of infection.”

And clearly he admired them for it. “Are you sure you’re not a guard on the inside?”

A flash of something dark crossed his features and he glanced away.

“Sorry,” I said quickly. “Why did you join the line patrol instead of the army?”

He tipped his head back against the door and stayed silent for a moment. Just as I thought he wasn’t going to answer, he spoke, his voice low and rough. “You know how everyone says their parents are overprotective?”

“Yes, because they are.”

“Okay, take that paranoia, multiply it by a thousand, and you have my mother. She lives in terror of catching Ferae. My father died in the first wave of the plague and she never got over it. When I was growing up, she wouldn’t let me go anywhere or do anything with anyone.”

“Join the club.”

“No, I mean literally.” He turned to me, his expression serious. “She has blowers set up in every room. Plastic sheeting over all the windows and doors. She works from home, so the only people she sees are her employees, who have no choice but to put up with her insane rules. Even my tutors had to change into sanitized clothes before they could come near me.”

“Tutors, as in teachers you met with in person?”

He nodded stiffly. “When I was seven, I tried to sneak out. That’s when my mother told me that I was born with an autoimmune deficiency and that if I ever left home, I’d die.”

I struggled to understand. His mother had lied to him about having a birth defect just to keep him at home? “But it’s not true?”

“Obviously.” He gestured to the air around us.

“Whoa.” And I’d thought I had it bad. Suddenly my dad’s obsession with survival skills and self-defense seemed almost sane. “That’s … um, pretty messed up.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed his forehead like he’d downed a slushy too fast.

“When did you find out that you’re fine?”

“A year ago,” he said, dropping his hand. “I left home that day and joined the patrol. I’d read that there was a doctor on Arsenal working on a cure, so I got myself assigned here. I’d rather fight Ferae head on than spend my life hiding from it.”

“I didn’t know line guards got to choose their assignments.”

“I’m not your average guard,” he said offhandedly. “For one thing, I’ve completed all of the undergrad science courseware and passed the exam.”

“Undergrad as in college?”

“Yes.” At my incredulous look, he shrugged. “I was locked inside for years. What else was I going to do?”

It was possible. Now that school was held online, you could move at your own pace, fast or slow. Even I’d skipped a grade. I sighed inwardly. So what if Everson was smart? He was also a guard who was supposed to keep the quarantine line secure. He was not about to help me find a way to get across the river, which was all that mattered right now.

He nudged my knee. “You’re handling all this really well. That or” — he shifted to see my face — “you’re great at hiding your feelings.”

“Showing them doesn’t change anything.” You just ended up looking pathetic, like when I’d called my supposed friends after my mom died, begging them to play with me, sobbing on the view screen when they’d refused. Dad and I moved to Davenport a year later, and I never saw any of them again, but I still cringed thinking about it.

Everson waited for me to say more, but I just shrugged. What else was there to say? Of course I was wrung out with worry for my dad and scared sick just thinking about crossing the bridge, but I could handle it — would handle it — because seeing my dad get executed … That I couldn’t handle.

“So,” Everson said after a moment. “What does that director want fetched? Must be important if she’s willing to risk her career to cut a deal with Mack.”

“I don’t know.” I couldn’t believe I hadn’t opened Director Spurling’s letter to my dad. I pulled the messenger bag across the floor and took out the envelope. I held it flat on my open palm. It was wrong to open other people’s letters.

Everson plucked the envelope from my hand and tore it open unceremoniously. So much for holding it in the steam of a teakettle so I could open it without having to admit it later. I pulled my ponytail tight as he unfolded the letter, written on heavy cream-colored paper that matched the envelope.

“Dear Mack,” he read aloud. “I’m told that’s what your clients call you, and that’s how you should think of me, as a client — only I won’t be paying your exorbitant fee in money. There is something I left behind in Chicago that I want very badly. If you can find it and bring it to me, I will erase the recording I have of you entering the checkpoint chamber and delete the files I’ve been amassing for the past several years on you and your clients.

“If you do complete the fetch, rest assured it will be your last. I know that your wife’s cancer bankrupted you, but surely you have enough now to live on until you find honest work in your field. If you value your life and your freedom, you will never again after this fetch cross the quarantine line. Say good-bye to the East, Mack, for good, for your own sake and for your daughter’s.”

Everson held the letter between us and pointed to what Spurling had written at the bottom of the page. An address in Chicago and “Arabella Spurling, age 6. Brown hair, blue eyes. Any photo in good condition.”

Arabella Spurling. She must have been Director Spurling’s daughter. I actually felt a little bad for her for a moment, until I remembered that she was the reason my dad was on the run in the Feral Zone.

Everson let the letter drop to the floor. “What kind of person sends a clueless girl into the most dangerous situation possible for a photo?” There was as much venom in his voice as in a bucket of chimpacabra spit.

I knew it was a rhetorical question, but I thought about it anyway. What kind of person did such a thing? A desperate one. I wondered if her memories of her daughter had begun to fade. I could still remember what my mother had looked like, because I had file upon file of digital video of our family. I could still see her face and hear her voice any time I wanted to. Except for right now, of course.

What I couldn’t do was feel her arms around me or her kiss at the edge of my hairline. I could still remember how she smelled — like honey, somehow — but there might be a day when I couldn’t conjure that up. If that ever happened, I could imagine feeling quite desperate.

I picked up Spurling’s letter. Wait. What had Everson just called me?

“I am not clueless,” I said, sitting up straighter against the door. “In fact, my dad has been telling me about the Feral Zone for years.”

“But he never mentioned the grupped ferals who live there?”

“He did. He just didn’t call them grupped ferals.” They were the were-beasts, mongrels, and manimals from his bedtime stories. Only now I knew that they weren’t fiction. Dad had been describing his day at the office, which happened to be in a forbidden quarantine zone. “And yes, okay, he may have sugarcoated things a bit. But it doesn’t matter because no one forced me to come here. And even after being attacked by an infected guy and seeing a man bleeding to death in a wagon because he’d been mauled and finding those horrible photos of mutated body parts, I’m still glad I —”

I couldn’t breathe.

I put my head down and tried to take in air, but my lungs grew stiffer by the second. And then the gasping started and I heard myself suffocating.

Everson held something up to my face, commanding, “Inhale.”

A prickly scent blasted up my nose and into my brain where it switched on strings of fairy lights at the back of my eyeballs. Choking, I shoved his hand away. “What was —” Then I saw the dark-blue inhaler in his palm and my bones melted.

“It’s Lull,” he explained. “I didn’t press long enough to put you out. It’ll just calm you down.” He tucked the inhaler into the front pocket of my pants. “If you’re still anxious, take another hit.”

Another hit? I fell back against the door.

“Okaaay … ,” Everson said, surprised.

The air around me turned into gelatin as I dripped down the wall.

“Actually,” he said. “Let’s keep it at one.”

Sure. Whatever. The door lolled against my back. My cheek dipped onto my shoulder. I tried to straighten up, but had lost my sense of up. Much easier to let gravity do the figuring so I let it pull me down. My head landed on something that wasn’t the floor. Not too soft, not too hard. “Just right,” I murmured.

“Oh crap,” said a voice, warm on my ear. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d be so sensitive.”

“S’okay.” Rolling to my side, I snuggled down for the night. My fingers curled into the sheet and pulled it to my chin. “I like the scary ones,” I assured him. And I did. I also liked it when he stayed until I fell asleep. I reached up and cupped his cheek, firm and warm. “You need to shave,” I murmured, tracing a finger down his sideburn, and then wondered why that would make my father gasp.