World-Mart (26 page)

Virginia thought about the old headlines addressing the state of the world, how the weather was able to deliver the finishing blow
disease
could not, how only Corporate knew that probably ninety-nine percent of the population had been wiped out, and that stockpiles were running low but nothing was being done to increase current resources.  The little that was left of society was being run by madmen, Virginia realized, and she had to wonder, with her new deviant mind, if she would have been as capable of understanding the severity of the situation had she still been human.  If humanity couldn’t save itself, then perhaps it was time to see what kind of job deviants could do.

She needed to get back to Ray, to relay to him as many of Corporate’s headlines as she could remember.  Likely, his intelligence already had most of the older information, but the development of HD-1a was relatively recent, and Virginia feared that Corporate might have plans
to
initiat
e
a mass-release of the new virus very soon.

She thought about the long walk from the Line 320 Shuttle to District 89148, knowing that the current weather conditions would make it close to impossible to cross the expanse, especially given her limited wardrobe.  For the time being, it seemed that she was trapped.

Virginia heard a scream come from upstairs.  Too afraid to investigate, she stayed where she was, quietly listening.

“How could you?” Mrs. Conrad cried.

“I was just curious!” he plead
ed
.  “You have to believe me!  It’s not what you think!”

“And what do I think?”

Mr. Conrad stammered, skipping through a few unconnected words before going silent.  Finally, he cried, “I love you!  You know I love you!”

There was the deafening sound of gunfire, three consecutive shots, as Nadine screamed.

“Do you have any last words, before I blow your brains out too?  Maybe an apology for soiling my husband’s body with your vile, filthy, disease-ridden touch?” Mrs. Conrad yelled.

“I’m sorry!” Nadine cried.  “Please don’t
kill
me!”

Virginia winced as she heard another shot, then the sound of a body collapsing onto the hard tile.  Footsteps stormed up to the basement door, and it flung open.  Leaving the light off, the steps creaking beneath her shaky feet, Mrs. Conrad slowly made her way to the basement.

Virginia scurried beneath the staircase, hoping that the shadows would offer her more complete cover.  She watched as Mrs. Conrad checked the empty cots, and then frantically turned around to survey the room.

“Virginia?” Mrs. Conrad called, her voice tense.  She shivered as the cold basement air bit at her pampered skin.

Virginia struggled to control her panicked breathing, sure that Mrs. Conrad could hear her.  Her heart beat so hard that she thought Mrs. Conrad might be able to hear that, too, and she stared through the shadows, hoping that
,
by some miracle, she might not be detected.

Mrs. Conrad began to check every possible hiding spot within the room, starting with the laundry area, and then the bathroom and kitchenette, and then the staircase.  Virginia looked around for a potential weapon as Mrs. Conrad slowly approached her.

“Peek-a-boo!” Mrs. Conrad said, Virginia becoming just visible as her eyes better adjusted to the dark room.

Knowing she would only have one chance, Virginia made a desperate dive for Mrs. Conrad’s legs, knocking the woman to the ground.  The gun went off, and the heavy kickback knocked it from Mrs. Conrad’s unprepared hand as her head hit the concrete.  She fell against it with a considerable amount of force, and she fell unconscious with an angry grunt.  Virginia backed away, then hurried up the staircase.  She locked the door, unsure whether Mrs. Conrad was dead or still alive, but not planning to stay long enough to find out.

She ran
to the front door
and
flung it open, quickly closing it as a gust of cold air rushed in.  She looked around, frozen in indecision for a moment, and then she ran up the staircase to grab a jacket from Mrs. Conrad’s closet
.  She opened the bedroom door, and the little dog came running up to her, sniffing and barking.  No
longer
caring whether the creature got loose, she left the door open and found Mrs. Conrad’s closet.  It was as large as Virginia’s entire
apartment
, with a
whole
row dedicated to heavy jackets and boots.  Every piece was tailored to perfection, many of them sporting heavy animal pelts, exquisite jeweled buttons, and matching accessories such as necklaces, hats, and scarves.

Virginia
grabbed a long, heavy coat,
which came with a matching hat and pair of boots.  She covered her nose and mouth with a thick, cream-colored scarf, and then snagged a pair of dark, black-rimmed sunglasses on her way out.  She found Mrs. Conrad’s current purse and rifled through it, pulling out her shuttle pass as she descended the staircase to the foyer.  She got to the front door just as Mrs. Conrad regained consciousness and tried the locked basement door.

In a panic, Mrs. Conrad began to shoot at the lock.

Virginia
ran off
, running for the shuttle hub.  Seeing no shuttles approaching from either side,
she
chose a direction and simply began to run.  She could find her way back to Ray, she rationalized, as soon as she was beyond the range of Mrs. Conrad’s gun.  She hurried down the road as far as her legs could take her, terrified that at any moment she might glance behind her and find Mrs. Conrad taking aim.

Mrs. Conrad emptied her remaining bullets into the lock, finally getting it to crack.  She yanked open the door and looked around, jumping with a start as her tiny poodle came running up to her, looking for attention.  She picked up the dog and gave the house a quick search, although she was already certain that Virginia was gone.

She went to
the office she had
shared with Mr. Conrad and booted up the main computer.  She logged onto the Internet and sent a quick note to the rest of the Corporate community:

Header: HD-1a Dispersal Proposal

Security Clearance: Red

Body Text: The deviant resistance group is planning a massive strike, which could potentially result in Corporate take-over.  Mr. Conrad has already fallen victim.  They shot him in the head.  I fear for my life.  I have uncovered the plans for the assassination of every other top Corporate official, as well, but I cannot pinpoint all of the individuals involved.  I propose Corporate begin the paperwork necessary to begin dispersal of HD-1a, taking a proactive approach before it is too late.

Mrs. Conrad sent the letter to everyone on the Red Clearance List, then sat back for a moment with a twisted smile.  She returned to the bedroom, carrying the revolver over to Mr. Conrad’s side of the bed, ignoring the dog as it jumped up and begged her for attention.  She sat down, opening the nightstand and digging around for the box of spare bullets.  She loaded one bullet into the revolver’s chamber, and then took a deep breath as she pulled back the hammer.  She closed her eyes tightly, taking aim, her trigger hand amazingly calm.  The sound of the explosion struck her ear as a hot, stabbing pain lashed through her right temple, but the pain and ringing only lasted for mere seconds before she collapsed, senseless and still.

The poodle yipped at the loud sound, running out of the room for a moment.  A heavy ringing sieved through the otherwise complete silence.  The little dog pulled her tail tightly between her legs, slowly padding back into the bedroom.  Mrs. Conrad’s body slumped awkwardly against her husband’s pillow, the smoking gun still in her hand, the hot barrel resting against her expensive pantsuit.  The little dog didn’t know what to think of the sight, and so he curled up at the foot of the bed to catch a few more hours of sleep.

Chapter Twenty-Four

GEORGE
slowly came to, unsure of where he was.  He lay on the ground, with a flat pillow beneath his head and a worn quilt over his sweat-glazed body.  He appeared to be in a teepee, although he wasn’t exactly sure how that could be.  The area was warm, with a fire pit in the center and a hole in the top of the cone-shaped ceiling for the smoke.  A small cauldron sat strategically arranged over the fire, and a dark brown soup boiled and spat within.  George couldn’t decide whether it smelled good, and he repeatedly sniffed the air to reassess his indifference.  His stomach growled heavily
just the same
.

He sat up, noticing two deviants sitting across from the fire.  Presumably husband and wife, they were probably in their mid-thirties, although their hands and faces were worn far beyond their years.  They wore rags, and both of them kept their greasy hair unusually short.  They seemed deeply engaged in a game of chess, using random household objects as the pieces and an old checkerboard dug up from the trash.  The wife was the first to notice that George was awake, and they both got to their feet as she motioned the news to her husband.

The two slowly approached George, keeping their distance until they could assess his character.

George tried to stand, but his body felt as if it had been hit by a shuttle.  Every muscle hurt, his head pounded, and his extremities felt like they were on fire.  He sat back, unsure of his company, but unable to do much about it for the moment.

The woman fetched a water jug and offered it to George.  “Have some water.”

George was hesitant, but he was also extremely thirsty.  He stared longingly at the jug for a moment, and then decided that he didn’t care what type of poison or disease was in
it
.  He snatched it from the woman and drank quickly, choking as he tried to swallow too much at once.

“I’m Joseph, and this is my wife, Amy,” the man said.  “We heard your call for help.  By the looks of things, I’d say we found you just in time.  You fell into a fever, and—”

“My eyes!”  George tried to get up again, opting instead to lean in toward the two.  “What color are my eyes?” he asked desperate
ly
.

“Brown,” Joseph said, confused.

George sat back, relieved.

Joseph and Amy exchanged glances.

“Maybe the fever hasn’t quite broke
n
?” Amy asked.

Joseph shrugged.

George looked around, wondering how far the couple had traveled to drag him out of the trash piles.  They had to be near the dump.  Given the cold and the wind, his call for help couldn’t have traveled beyond the pile he had attempted to climb.  He was surrounded by a strange mixture of clutter.  While trash seemed
piled around
them on all sides, with boxes and bags
lined
up along the walls, there were also stacks of books, discarded paintings, and a small telescope.  “Where am I?” he asked.

Joseph and Amy exchanged another quick look.

“This is our home,” Joseph said.  “You’re welcome to stay here until the weather’s clear
ed
.”