The Letting (28 page)

“He doesn’t want our reasons,” I interject. I understand this man and his fear. When you have so very little, you are terrified of losing it. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Phoenix, but this man is a businessman, not a philosopher. Am I right, sir?”

“Maybe,” he grumbles, eyeing me. “What do you have to say?’

“What Farnsworth gives you is the bare minimum you need to survive. Wouldn’t you like to have more?”

“Wouldn’t everyone?”

“Well, your current way of life is in jeopardy.” I can tell I have his attention. “Your days of sitting here, collecting something for nothing are over. Farnsworth is ill, and he’ll be getting worse. That’s why we’re making our move now. And unless Phoenix can get to the New World to serve as interim Principal Leader, someone else will. And that someone is power-hungry and greedy. If he doesn’t kill you, he will seize your property and seal off your way of making a living because you’re not of any service to him. Gas is everywhere,” I explain. “You’re an old man. He doesn’t need you. And your boys? They look strong. They’ll be sent off to the city to work in a factory.”

The man looks at me, his eyes wide. He uses the barrel of his gun to push his hat further up on his head. “Go on.”

“So your best option is to put something aside for your survival. But I’ll bet you don’t have any extra cash lying around do you?”

“No,” he admits, looking at his tiny shop. “No, I don’t.”

“Then here’s the deal. Since you know who I am, you must know I’m one of only a few remaining O’s. The other three are children who, combined, can’t make my weight. You go grab a funnel and an empty pint container from an old oil can or something. You fill up our tank, and I’ll give you a half-pint of pristine O.”

“Ronnie, no,” Phoenix blurts.

“It’s okay, Phoenix. I can do this.” I turn to the old man. “Then you sell my blood on the black market. You’ll make enough for the four of you to live for years without worrying about money one bit.”

“You got yourself a deal there, little lady,” the old man says greedily, and he stands, eager to get the funnel and pint.

“Gas first.” It is my one stipulation.

“No way,” the old man challenges. “You want gas, blood first. There’s no way I’m gonna risk you taking off without paying me.”

“Fine.” I see no way around it. The man leaves to get the paraphernalia.

“Ronnie…” Phoenix holds my hands and speaks urgently. “I can’t let you do this.”

“So what are we going to do, Phoenix? Kill him?”

“No.”

“Then we have no choice, because even if we wanted to kill him, which we don’t, those boys would shoot us in a second.”

“But Ron—”

“You’ve made your tough choices.” I stare at Phoenix. “Now I’m making mine.”

The old man returns with one of his sons who is carrying a funnel and pint. “Let’s go,” the old man urges.

“Okay, but we pump the gas simultaneously. That’s the best you’re going to get.”

“Fine.”

We push the bike to the front of the building and stick the nozzle of the gas pump into the gas tank of the bike.

“Can I have your knife please?” I ask Phoenix.

Reluctantly, he hands it to me. With a swift motion, I cut off a piece of my jacket and use it as a tourniquet on my arm. “You have any alcohol?” I ask the old man.

“Nope.” His son looks at him. I look from his son back to the old man.

“Whiskey?” I ask.

The old man hesitates.

“You can buy a hell of a lot more whiskey if my blood isn’t contaminated.”

The old man reaches into his pocket and pulls out a flask. I douse the inside of my left arm with the whiskey. Without thinking twice, I make a deep cut on the inside of my forearm.

“Ugh,” I grunt through clenched teeth and Phoenix moves to help me. “No. Pump the gas!”

He does as I ask as my blood flows into the funnel and down into the pint container. Even in the semi-darkness, we are incredibly exposed in the front of the store, but we have no choice. I count the seconds in my head.

“Done,” Phoenix yells and I release the tourniquet. Quickly I hold my arm upright and cover the cut with my jacket. I apply as much pressure as possible. “You need stitches,” he whispers.

I just shake my head. I am starting to tremble now, my teeth chattering together.

“That’s not a half-pint,” claims the old man.

“It’s more than you need,” I say, hopping on the back of the bike before the old man and his sons decide to hold us as hostages. “You’ll get a fortune for that.” I see the son fumbling with the blood, and he nearly spills it. “Let’s go,” I whisper to Phoenix. We need to get away now, while the man and his son are preoccupied. I wedge my bleeding arm between Phoenix’s back and my abdomen, and I hold on for dear life. We peel out of the gas station and head for the highways of the Inferno.

****

One road morphs into another and soon more and more lanes lay out before us. I feel tiny and exposed riding on the back of the bike, but strangely, I’m grateful for the unease. It may be all that’s keeping me alive. Soon we begin to pass vehicles that look shiny and new, and the passengers are no longer simply government workers. They are families with children and…pets. Gretchen was right. These people do keep small animals just for fun. I feel like we’ve landed on another planet. Up ahead, we see the bridge that connects us to the New World.

“There it is,” I yell and Phoenix nods.

The bridge looks so much larger from our tiny bike. I’ve only ever seen glimpses of it from the back of a truck or those two times I flew over it. I close my eyes and push myself tightly against Phoenix as we start to cross the bridge. I open my eyes and peek out to see we are going over a wide river that flows right into a bay not too far away. That bay leads to the ocean where Farnsworth lives. I close my eyes again and feel the mist from the water splash against my face. There is such a juxtaposition of pain and pleasure in my body that I can barely stand it. All too soon, I feel our bike heading off an exit, and we officially have willingly entered the Inferno. Phoenix brings the bike to a stop and turns to speak to me.

“We’re here.”

“Yes.”

“Are you in a lot of pain?” he asks, looking concerned.

“Only a little.” I lie.

He nods, understanding. “Ready?” he asks.

“Of course not—but let’s do it anyway.”

“Okay. Ron, I’m really sorry for what happened back there with Brooke.”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” I whisper.

I can’t imagine spending what could possibly be my last moments on earth talking about Brooke and the things Phoenix and she did together.

“The Letting facility?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, wishing he would force me to talk about Brooke, wishing he would prove there was nothing to talk about.

I am light-headed, woozy, in immense pain, and incredibly sad. Top form to go into battle with my enemy.

The motorbike rolls ahead, but it is no longer exciting. It is incredibly scary to feel so open and exposed. Only three stop lights and we are spotted. It’s terrifying, but it’s also fortunate. If I’m clever, I can get us almost immediate access to Farnsworth.

Vehicles with flashing lights surround us. Slowly we get off the bike, both of us with our hands in the air. I wince when I lift my left arm. Officers with helmets on their heads and masks over their faces point guns at us. If I wanted to die, this would be the easiest way to accomplish my goal. But, I don’t. It’s not that I’m afraid of death. It’s that I’m afraid to leave the girls without me.

“I am Veronica Billings,” I shout so everyone on the street can hear. “I am the last remaining O.” People begin to crowd around us and the officers look over their shoulders, uneasily. “Anyone who kills me kills Principal Leader Farnsworth directly.” Murmurs are heard. I repeat myself. “I am Veronica Billings. The last remaining O. I need to go to Principal Leader Farnsworth, now!”

“Who’s that?” someone from the growing crowd asks. He points to Phoenix.

“The only person Principal Leader Farnsworth wants in his custody more than me,” I shout. “Take us to Farnsworth, or you will be directly responsible for killing him.”

I point at each person in the crowd for emphasis. There is murmuring and confusion among the officers. Phoenix and I stare hard at them, wondering if this is the end for us. My eyes dart from officer to officer, waiting. What I just did was a giant gamble. Finally, one summons us to a car and I exhale. We slide into the back seat, and with sirens blasting, the car moves ahead to take us to the Letting facility. Phoenix leans over toward me.

“Man, you’ve got balls,” he whispers, smiling.

I smile back. Why not? What do we have left to lose?

****

We make it to the Letting facility in record time. Quickly, we are pulled from the back of the car and led into the facility. Someone grabs my injured arm, and I very nearly scream. I bite my knuckle, trying to make the pain pass. Although we are moved along hurriedly, we are not handcuffed or manhandled. Frankly, the officers do not seem to know what to make of us. Friend or foe?

We are brought into a large white room with white cabinets on all the walls. “Wait here,” one guard instructs, closing the doors behind us. No sooner do the doors close, I start rummaging through the cabinets.

“What are you doing?” Phoenix whispers.

“Looking for supplies. And ideas.” Cabinet after cabinet is filled with bandages and cotton balls. Finally, the last cabinet has alcohol. I pour some directly on my cut.

“Uh,” I cry, gritting my teeth. I close my eyes and wait for the burn to pass. When I open them, I see my arm is still bleeding. “I can’t be bleeding when he comes to me. He’ll freak at the loss.”

“What can we do?” Phoenix asks.

“Stitch me up if we can find the supplies.”

Phoenix looks at me, his eyes soft, feeling my pain.

“I know it won’t be fun,” I tell him. “But we have to do something.” At that, Phoenix starts rummaging through desk drawers.

“Glue,” he announces, holding up a small bottle.

“We’re going to glue me shut?” I ask, my eyes wide.

“You have a better idea?” He unscrews the cap. “It’s not regular glue. It’s incredibly strong. I saw someone mend a cut with it once—”

“Was that someone Brooke?”

“Yes,” he admits, quietly.

“Thanks. I’ll bleed.”

Phoenix just stares at me long and hard.

“Fine,” I cede, as I feel another droplet of blood run down my arm. “I need to save all the blood I can. Glue my arm shut.”

Phoenix squeezes a thin trail of glue along my incision and pinches the skin closed. The process is painful and smells horrible, but the glue seems to be keeping my wound closed.

“Ronnie,” Phoenix begins, his hands holding my arm together. “I wish you’d let me explain about Brooke.”

“I don’t want to hear explanations.” I am exasperated. “I want to forget it. But I can’t. Because I can’t get the image of you and her out of my brain. Ugh.” I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head, trying to rid myself of the image I’ve conjured. “See? This is why I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to spend what could be my last free moments on this earth talking about Brooke. That would be what she wanted us to do.”

“I understand, but you need to know—”

“Just stop.” I cover my ears with my hands. “Oh, where are they? It’s taking too long. This isn’t good. It has to mean Farnsworth himself is on his way.”

“That is precisely what it means,” Farnsworth informs us, rolling into the room. Grace is behind him, pushing his chair. She does not acknowledge me. Farnsworth looks gravely ill. He is much paler than the last time I saw him, and his lips are rimmed in blue. His hair looks stringy, and his body seems to be constantly quivering. Despite it all, he rolls his chair right up to Phoenix.

“Do you know the worst part about being me?” Farnsworth asks Phoenix. “Huh? Do you? It’s that I can’t hit you. Because, well, I’m stuck in this.” He raises his hands slowly, motioning to his wheelchair. “And I could injure myself. Seriously. And even lovely Veronica’s blood couldn’t save me if I started to hemorrhage. So no matter what I’m feeling, I can’t throw a punch to your gut.”

I look from Farnsworth to Phoenix and back.

“But do you know the best part about being me? Do you Phoenix, leader of the Peaceful Revolution?” Farnsworth asks, smiling as he speaks. “The best part of being me is even though I can’t punch you in the gut, I can order someone else to.”

With that, Farnsworth nods his head, and one of his bodyguards steps forward and punches Phoenix hard, in the abdomen.

“Phoenix!” I try to rush to his side. The other of Farnsworth’s bodyguards holds me.

“Oh how sweet,” Farnsworth hisses. “You two seem to be getting along so nicely. Too bad I’m going to have you locked away in the Letting facility, Veronica. And too bad I’m going to have you killed, Phoenix.”

I look at Phoenix, desperately.

“Well, there’s no time like the present.” Farnsworth snaps his bony white fingers. With that, my bodyguard pushes me forward, and Phoenix’s guard drags him to his feet. We head to the door.

“Ron.” Phoenix turns and looks at me. That one look tells me everything I need to know.

“Me too,” I cry. “They can never have what’s in our hearts.”

Phoenix smiles as they push him out the door ahead of me. Despite it all, my heart feels fuller and stronger than ever. “Wait!” I turn to Farnsworth. “Wait.”

“I hope you’re not going to grovel, Veronica. It would be so beneath you.”

“Listen to me, Farnsworth. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

“Very cute, Veronica, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“You have an enemy, Farnsworth. Bigger than you could possibly imagine. And you and your empire will be taken down without our help.”

“What makes you think I would believe that?” Farnsworth asks. “They are desperate words spoken by a desperate girl because I am going to kill her boyfriend.”

“They’re not,” I protest.

“Listen to her, Farnsworth,” Phoenix warns, struggling against his bodyguard. “She’s talking about a rebel who is gaining strength and power by the second. He’s already amassed large groups from the city to march into the New World. They’re on their way. And you’re going to need all the help you can get. You’re going to need someone who understands the way he thinks and can anticipate his next move.”