Contaminated 2: Mercy Mode (28 page)

“They’d have no reason to have sent her anywhere else, and if you two were legally married, then he’d be the next logical choice for guardian. Everything’s such a mess now, anyway. Tons of paperwork but nobody to follow up, and honestly, the people in charge don’t really care. All the regulations, but most of it’s going unenforced, except for the big stuff. The crime …” She shakes her head. “The crime is out of control.”

I take a long drink of water, then another bite of spaghetti. This time, slower. I chew and swallow. “The Contaminated?”

“No. Regular people. That’s what makes it so upsetting. It makes me glad I have a gun.” Ellen shakes her head again.

I frown. “You have a gun?”

She lifts her chin. “Look. All it took was waking up one night with some yahoo standing over me asking me where I kept the good drugs, okay? I’m not proud of it, but, yeah, I have a gun. And it wasn’t easy to get, either.”

“I’m not judging. Do you know how to use it?”

“Yes.” Her eyes go steely. “Definitely.”

I sit back in the chair, my stomach so full, I think I
might pop. “I need to get to Dillon. I need to find out what happened to Mrs. Holly, too.”

“Velvet, you know it’s very likely that Mrs. Holly is … gone.”

“At least I’d know,” I tell her. “Instead of always wondering.”

It’s been close to six hours since Brice picked me up in the parking lot and brought me here. I need sleep, but I don’t want to even take a nap. My stomach’s full. My wounds are taken care of. The collar’s off.

I push away from the table. “Tell me where the displacement housing is.”

“Velvet, it’s everywhere. I mean, he could be in any one of the complexes. Or, hell, even in one of the regular houses. So many are empty because of people being sent away.”

That’s when I know exactly where to find him. It doesn’t matter where they assigned him; I’m sure that Dillon will have gone home. “He went to his parents’ house.” Heart racing, I take my dish to the sink because it would be so rude not to, and when I turn to face her, Ellen’s giving me a weird look.

“What?”

“Go,” she says, with a wave of her hands. “I shouldn’t let you. I should worry about you more. You’re in no condition to be running around this time of night, and there’s every chance you’ll get picked up by some patrol and all the
good work I did on you today will have been a waste of my time. But … go. I can’t stop you. But do me a favor, at least. Let me give you some better clothes, okay?”

That makes sense. My tracksuit and sneakers offer little protection. Ellen outfits me in sturdy jeans with a denim shirt, gloves, and a pair of heavy-duty lace-up boots that are a little tight in the toes, but will have to do.

“Not for fashion,” she says as she hands me a leather jacket with a thick collar like the kind old-time pilots wore. The leather is soft and smells good, though the jacket’s obviously not new. “But in case you have to do any sort of jumping through bushes or climbing or … well. Whatever it is you’re going to end up doing.”

I shrug into the jacket. The sleeves are a little too long, but everything else fits great. “Thanks. For everything.”

“Someone has to start doing the right things, like Brice said. I tried, or I thought I did.” For a moment, Ellen looks sad. “Then I got scared.”

“You’ve done a lot. You took care of my mom that day. And Dillon said you took care of a lot of other people, too.”

“I could do more. I
should
do more. Go now.”

From outside comes a sweep of bright light through the windows and the crackle of a speaker-boosted voice. Ellen goes to the window and tugs the curtain aside. When she looks back at me, her face seems very pale.

“They tracked the collar. I wondered if they might—it’s the sort of thing Donna would’ve done, just to be safe.
The normal collars don’t have tracking devices in them, but she’d custom-built something so she didn’t lose her cash cow.” Ellen pulls open a closet and takes out a shotgun. I’d been expecting a handgun; seeing her with that thing makes me take a stumbling step back, especially when she racks it. “Get out of here. Back door. Hurry, you’re only about five steps ahead of them at this point. Go!”

I go, fast as I can, out the back door and across the yard. I take a running leap at the fence, glad for the gloves, which help me grip and protect my hands from the splintery wood. I dig the toes of my borrowed boots into the fence and push upward, managing to get myself to the top, where I swing myself over and drop into the yard on the other side. My ankles twinge, but the pain is fading. The house on this side is dark; the grass and weeds grown so high, it’s clear nobody’s lived there for a long time. There are lights on the street in front of it, too. Sweeping white lights and the murmur of those crackly voices.

I zigzag to the right, into the backyard of the next house. There are lights on in this one, but I don’t even peek in the windows. I keep going. Into the yard of the house after that, keeping low, leaping bushes and tricycles and a sandbox. I trip over a collapsed lawn chair, but manage to land on one foot, and keep running.

This hurts. The pounding of my heart is so loud, it’s impossible to hear what’s going on around me, but it’s not like any of the soldiers are trying to be secretive. From
behind me, I hear gunshots. I can’t tell from what kind of gun, but I don’t let myself turn around even for one second.

I run and run, at first through backyards, then daring to cross the street to get to the next row of houses. I’m not sure where I’m going, or how far it is until I get to Dillon’s house. I was there only once. But I run faster, staying away from the soldiers and keeping out of sight of any lit windows, until at last I stumble out onto a street I do recognize. I orient myself while I try to catch my breath. I bend, hands on my knees while the world, topsy-turvy, curves around me.

Everything’s quiet here. If they’re on a manhunt for me, they’re not doing any better a job of it than they did keeping me in the Sanitarium. I stretch sore muscles, feeling the wrappings around my ankles loosening. The boots are laced tight enough for now, but I’m going to be in agony later, and it’s unlikely Dillon’s going to have any ice for me. Certainly nothing stronger for pain than aspirin, if he even has that.

I take the time to make sure I’m heading in the right direction. Down one street, then the other, keeping to the sidewalk this time so I don’t get lost. I count the house numbers. This street is almost completely dark, which isn’t a shocker, considering what time it is, but the signs of neglect everywhere tell me that almost all of these houses have been abandoned. One, two, three, his house is a few down from
the corner. It’s too dark to see the color, but I recognize the concrete gnome in the front yard.

I stop in front of it, desperate and eager to get inside but uncertain about how to do it. Do I knock? I try the handle to see if it’s unlocked, and the door jerks open hard in front of me. Hands are on me, and I don’t think, I react. I dip and turn, twisting, grabbing at the shadowy figure. My nails dig deep into bare skin. Hot breath washes over me, and strong arms pin me.

I will kill him
.

That’s what I think in the seconds before the voice in my ear says my name, low and urgent, and I know who’s holding me so tightly. But I can’t stop myself from chopping his throat with the side of my hand. At the last second, I pull my punch so that even though I still hit him, it’s only enough to make him cough and gag. Not enough to end his life.

“Dillon, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I say it over and over, but somehow doubt it could ever be enough.

And then he has me in his arms, his hand on the back of my head, and he’s kissing me, and somehow, I know he will forgive me.

“
THEY CAME AND TOOK HER A COUPLE HOURS
ago.” Dillon’s voice is still raspy, but his eyes have stopped watering. “I couldn’t stop them.”

“It’s not your fault.”

I want to go to bed and sleep forever. I want to take a hot shower. I want, at least, to have a cold drink. Instead, we are stuffing backpacks with supplies in the dark so we don’t alert any passing soldiers.

“I should’ve run with her. Done something.” Dillon rolls up a T-shirt and shoves it to the bottom of the pack. His shoulders hunch.

In the dim light coming from behind the curtains, he’s a shadow, but I can see him—better than he can see me, I think, and I wonder if this is something else that’s happened to me because of the Contamination. I put my arms around him from behind, pressing my cheek against his back. It takes him a few seconds, but then he turns and hugs me. I
can’t make him feel better. He can’t change what happened.

“We’ll get her back,” I say finally. “I got out. I can get back in.”

“And out again? Velvet. No.”

“She’s my sister, Dillon.” I step away from him.

“They’ll catch you!”

“They won’t expect me to go back inside.” I say this with more confidence than I feel.

From outside, I hear shouts and the rough rumble of the truck engines. We don’t have time to argue about this. They might not be tracking me anymore, but how long before Donna realizes where I must’ve gone and sends them directly here? If they came here for Opal, they’ll be here for me any minute.

I shove a few cans into my backpack, then weigh it in my hands. Too heavy. I take out most of the food, leaving only the granola bars and small packages of cookies. I shove in a handful of socks, bandages, tubes of antibiotic ointment, a pair of scissors. A pocketknife from the junk drawer Dillon dumped onto the kitchen table. We need to run, travel light. We can scavenge along the way, if we have to. Right now all I can think about is getting to Opal.

I can’t think about my parents.

Take care of your sister, I hear my mom say, and though it kills me, I know I have to think of Opal first. My parents, later. They would expect it of me.

Dillon steps in front of me as he shrugs into his backpack.
“Velvet, stop. Listen to me. There’s a supply train leaving Lebanon at dawn. I know about it because Mario, that guy I told you about, got switched to a different route. Now he’s doing pickup at the unloading docks for the supply station. The one where the trains drop off stuff. He’s taking his family and they’re getting out on that train, heading for a green zone. Raven says there are people waiting there to take us in.”

“Us?”

“People escaping from the black zones.”

“Is it safe? Of course it’s not safe.” Before he can answer, I shake my head with a laugh. Stupid. It’s not like we can buy a ticket and reserve a seat. Still—“We have to be on that train, Dillon.”

“We’ll never make it.”

I grab him by both arms and turn him into the sliver of light coming from outside so he can see me, my face, how serious I am. “We’ll make it.”

Dillon can’t keep up with me, and I have to shorten my strides. His pack is heavier, because he insisted he could carry more. I don’t want to embarrass him, but when his breath starts rasping in his lungs and he falls behind as we duck through the backyards, I finally turn to him.

“Switch with me.”

“No—”

“I’m strong,” I tell him. “I’ve been doing nothing but
running, jumping, and lifting stuff for weeks. Plus, I’m … well, I’m strong, Dillon.”

I want him to understand, but how can he when I barely understand myself? And I don’t want him to be afraid of me. Dillon bends, hands on his knees.

At that moment, a ray of white light sweeps the yard. I’m on my knees a second after that, pulling him down beside me. We both hit the ground, our faces pressed into the dirt. I’m glad for the leather coat and gloves Ellen lent me, but all Dillon has on is a denim shirt and jeans.

The light sweeps back and forth. The truck moves on. We, I think, are
so
going to get caught.

I wait a minute or so before I sit up. I’m trying to gauge by the light in the sky how close we are to dawn, and what that means, exactly. Five a.m.? Six a.m.?

“Did he say the train left at a specific time, or just at dawn?”

“Just at dawn, but I’m sure there’s a schedule.”

I peek through the bushes. The trucks have gone around the bend, leaving behind the stink of exhaust. I sit back on my heels.

“Can you run again? We have another couple miles to go before we get to the Sanitarium. How far is it from the train station? Do you know?”

“The train station is behind the old YMCA, across the street. They converted all those old factory buildings into storage and offices.”

“A few miles?” I try to calculate how far, but I can’t. I can run and jump and lift heavy things, but the calculation of distance escapes me.

Dillon pulls me close. “This is crazy. You know that? You’re going back in there. Get Opal out. And get to the train by dawn?”

“Yes.” It’s the only answer I know to give.

Incredibly, Dillon grins. He kisses me. We don’t have time for this, but I let him, because suddenly I want to cling to him and never let go.

“Hey,” he says. “Shhh. Hey, Velvet, don’t cry.”

“There was so much blood.”

Dillon holds me tighter. “We’re going to get through this. Together.”