Dead Girl Running (The New Order Book 1) (2 page)

“What’s going on?” Mom cranes her neck and rises on her toes. “Can you see?”

Indistinct voices argue up ahead. Strangers murmur but avoid making eye contact. After a long pause, the people in front of us begin to shuffle past the building. A few cast furtive glances over their shoulders. Everyone’s in a hurry to get somewhere. Now I see who is causing the fuss—a red-haired girl, who looks to be about my age, shoves an orderly away. The crowd behind us pushes forward. Tears stream down the girl’s pale face. She backs away from the building and turns as if to run before doubling over. She cries out in pain and clutches her swollen belly, breathing hard.

In her moment of weakness, the Suits surround and restrain her.

“I won’t do it! I won’t do it!” the pregnant girl screams as they drag her away.

“Let’s get out of here.” Mom grabs my shoulder and steers me onwards.

“What won’t she do?” I refuse to move, staring as the bawling, red-haired girl disappears behind the Family Planning sliding glass doors.

“Hush, Silvia. And don’t gawk.”

“Tell me what’s going to happen to her,” I beg.

Mom’s eyes widen as the crowd spills around us.

An older woman grumbles, “Get out of the way. Get out of the way.”

Mom slips a slender arm around my shoulders and propels me ahead, whispering in my ear. “Don’t make a scene. Don’t ruin your birthday.”

I pull back. I’m not the one who ruined my birthday.

She pushes harder. “Silvia, it’s none of our business. She’s probably having a bad day. Pregnant women get very emotional. I certainly did when I carried you.”

Scowling at her non-reply, I step away, almost into the path of the first car we’ve seen all morning. A staccato of horn blasts chases me back into my proper lane of traffic. The long, black limo eases past as we hustle on our way. I peer into the dark-tinted windows but can’t see a thing.

“Come on!” Mom grabs my arm, and we melt into the crowd.

“I just want to know who’s in there.”

She shakes her head. “You’re always too curious for your own good. What difference does it make?”

“What’s wrong with being curious?”

She winces. “Your father used to say that.”

“Really?” My ears prickle. She never talks about him. “Tell me more. About Dad.”

She takes a shaky breath. “Not today, honey. Okay?” She pats my arm, a guarded smile on her face. “Try to be more careful, okay?”

We rush on in silence for the next three blocks until Mom pauses at Genetic Testing and Counseling.

“Why are we stopping?” I ask.

She averts her gaze. “You’re eighteen now. You have to get tested.”

“Today?” I can’t believe this. “I thought we were going to the park.”

“We are. But as a condition of both of us getting the day off, we need to stop in here first.” Her appeasing tone switches to don’t-mess-with-me-now. “Don’t give me that look. It won’t take long. I promise.”

“Fine. Let’s get this over with. It’s not like I’m afraid of blood or anything.”

The overhead bell jingles softly as we enter the cool waiting room. Bamboo flooring muffles our footsteps as we approach the counter of nurses checking in patients. The bright blue banner over their head reads:
Genetic Testing: It’s the right thing to do. Be proactive and informed about your health!

We are next in line. I cross my arms and tap my foot. This better not take too long. I don’t want to waste any time we could spend at the park.

“Patient’s name, age, and heritage?” a middle-aged nurse asks, clipboard in hand.

Mom nudges me forward.

I clear my dry throat. “Silvia Wood… eighteen years old,
exactly
.” I turn so she can check the microchip embedded in my upper right arm, careful to keep my wrists covered with my long sleeves. “Half Japanese, half White European.”

“Well, happy birthday to you.” She smiles as she scans the microchip and records my Citizen Number. Her perfect teeth seem even whiter against her coffee-colored skin.

I tense, but her eyes are kind. She has no idea what this day means to me. “Thank you,” I manage to choke out.

She leads me down a hallway. “We can take the first room on the right. Mrs. Wood, you’re welcome to join us. We encourage family participation.”

Once we reach the room, she flicks on the occupancy light over the door. “Please take a seat. My name is Lucinda Mayer.” She smiles again. “It will only take a second to enter you into the computer, and then I’ll ask you a series of questions.”

“Okay.” I sit on a wooden bench, surrounded by walls the same green as a fig tree leaf.

“No need to be nervous, young lady. I’m very good at drawing blood. It will only sting for a second.”

“I’m not worried about that.” Still unnerved by the crying girl a few blocks back, I try to sound braver than I feel. “I work in Mortuary Sciences. Blood doesn’t bother me.”

“Then there’s nothing to be anxious about. Now let’s get started.”

Nurse Mayer fires off questions. Mom answers most of them before I can even open my mouth. I nod and grit my teeth, trying to hide my irritation.

Ever since my Occupation Exam, Mom keeps looking for opportunities for me to get ahead, to “stand out and shine” as she puts it. She is so disappointed I didn’t test “exceptional” like she and Dad did. Instead I’ve been labeled “empathetic.”

Empathetic? I’m not sure how they came up with that. I certainly don’t feel very kindly toward my interfering mother at the moment.

“Are you currently sexually active?” Nurse Mayer asks.

Mom clamps her mouth shut and turns to me.

Nurse Mayer continues. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of if you are, young lady. Just answer the question truthfully. It’s important.”

“No. I don’t even like boys.”

“Do you prefer girls? Because that alters which genetic tests we’ll run. But either answer is perfectly acceptable.”

“I know it is. But, no, I didn’t mean that. I don’t like anyone.” I flush and stammer. “I mean, they don’t like me. Most of my friends stopped talking to me when I started working in the Mortuary.”

Mom throws me a warning look which says:
try not to look like a social pariah.

“Not that I’m complaining. I like my job.” I fake a smile to assure the nurse I’m perfectly normal.

The nurse raises her eyebrows. “You like your job?”

“Yes. It’s interesting.” I glance at Mom for support. “Aren’t I supposed to like my job? Isn’t that what the Occupational Exam is for? To make sure everyone likes what they do?”

Mom cringes. “Please answer the questions, dear. Don’t make up so many of your own.”

Nurse Mayer chuckles. “My daughter is about your age. Just starting out, too.”

“What does she do?” I ask to be polite.

“She works in Food Growth and Management.”

“That’s part of Plant and Protein Production, isn’t it?” I swallow my jealousy. “Does she like it?”

“Of course.” The nurse types with lightning speed. “Okay, only one last series of questions regarding your general health.”

“I’m ready.”

“Have you ever used any tobacco products?”

Mom leans forward. “No, she hasn’t. I check her clothes for traces every day.”

“You do?” I don’t know if she’s telling the truth or covering for me the one time I came home from work reeking of burnt hair. “I haven’t used any of the Forbidden Drugs or Products. I wouldn’t want to. I’ve seen first-hand what their use can do to the body.”

Nurse Mayer glances at her computer screen. “Do you exercise the required thirty minutes a day?”

Mom interjects. “She insists on taking the stairs every time. She
never
lets me use the elevator, and our apartment is on the
sixth
floor.”

Poor Mom. She so wants other people to be impressed with me.

I clear my throat. “I’m a member of 37
^th
Street Health and Productivity Gym. You can check my account. I’m there every day after work from four until at least six. Even longer on my days off.”

“Thank you. I’ll include that information with the report. Now there’s only one more question, but I’ll check your vitals first,” Nurse Mayer says.

“Why?” I ask.

Mom’s face reads:
don’t ask why.

“Stress affects a person’s blood pressure,” the nurse explains. “Wouldn’t want to submit an artificially elevated reading.” She measures my height, weight, body fat with calipers, and blood pressure. “All your values are within normal ranges. Physically, you appear to be a very healthy young lady.”

“I run at least an hour a day at an eight-minute-per-mile pace,” I say and then cringe. Great. Now
I’m
the one trying to impress her.

“That’s very good.” Nurse Mayer laughs. “I could only do that if I was being chased.”

“Who would chase you?”

“Hopefully that fine-looking actor in the latest James Bond movie, but then I would let him catch me.” The nurse winks and sets aside the blood pressure monitor.

“I haven’t seen that one.” Gus thinks I don’t watch enough movies for a young woman my age. Maybe he’s right.

“You should.” She turns back to me, but now her face is somber rather than joking. “Are you ready for the last question?”

I nod.

“Okay.” She takes my cold hands in her warm ones. “Now, Silvia, be honest. How many times have you attempted suicide since your father’s death?”

hat’s the big deal?” I whisper as we exit the building, leaving the questions and blood collecting behind us.

Mom shakes her head. “How can you even ask that? Don’t you
know
what you’ve put me through?”

How dare she ask that? Doesn’t she remember what she put
me
through? “But that was years ago. I’m better now. I’ve chosen therapeutic exercise as my treatment plan. It’s much more effective than all those pills I was on.”

She sighs. “I’ll agree that running and yoga have helped. But this is
exactly
why I want to get you out of that Mortuary. I don’t want you to spend your life surrounded by death and sadness.”

“Stop complaining about my job. Working there
doesn’t
depress me. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

We cross another crowded street and turn left at the tall streetlight. My gaze strays to the camera halfway up the light pole, constantly monitoring citizen activity.
Our vigilance keeps you safe,
or so the New Order claims.

The foot traffic thins as we near the Northwest Citizen Park. Most people are headed in the opposite direction. Past the endless rows of buildings, all at least a dozen stories tall, I can finally spot some trees in the distance. I can’t wait to forget about today’s miserable appointment and be surrounded by glorious colors: bright green leaves and flowers of every pink, red, and yellow imaginable.

“And what happened with all your so-called friends?” Mom asks. “Did you hear yourself in there? None of them call or come over since you started that horrible job.”

“But I like working there. And you always told me that school friends don’t last forever. You said I’d make friends at my chosen profession when the day came. And that’s what I’ve done.”

She throws up her hands. “The only person you work with is a sixty-year old man!”