Dead Girl Running (The New Order Book 1) (5 page)

“How about this? I
will
enter. And I’m going to beat
you
.” There. Take that.

“I accept that challenge.” He reaches over and shakes my sweaty hand. “Hey, what’s your name?”

“It’s Silvia.” His vigorous handshake catches me off balance, and I try not to fall off the treadmill.

An hour later, I approach the front desk. Liam stands beside me, egging me on. My hand shakes as I scan my I.D. card, officially signing up for the Race for Citizen Glory. This could all be a big mistake. Heck, I’ve never even run on a road before.

The athletic trainer behind the table hands me a cloth bag. “Here’s your race packet. The New Order congratulates you on making the commitment to better health.”

“All right! You did it.” Liam slaps me a high five. “I’m glad you’re on my team.”

“What team?” My eyes narrow. “You never mentioned a team.”

He shrugs. “That’s because I just decided right now. We should train together. That way, we’ll win together, you know, running as a pack.”

“What if I don’t want to train with you?” I ask as we move away from the front desk.

“Why wouldn’t you?” He follows me toward the girls’ locker room then leans on the wall outside the door, blocking my way. “I’ll push you hard, and you’ll do the same for me.”

“I guess you’re right.” I hear myself agreeing with his plan as two girls approach. Their matching ponytails swing in unison. Both girls sport a perfect glow of after-workout sheen. The brunette throws a longing glance at Liam. The blonde raises a questioning eyebrow at me. Liam moves so they can enter the locker room.

“Get used to it.” He grins. “I’m always right.”

“I doubt that.” I shake my head. “Listen, I’ve got to get home to make supper for my mom. It’s her late night at the orchestra hall.”

“That’s cool.” Liam eases his way down the hallway. “See you tomorrow. Be ready to run outside.”

“Outside? But that’s not allowed. What if we get in trouble?”

He laughs as he reaches the corner. “Don’t worry. There are approved training runs in your packet. You’ll see.”

I glance at my race bag. Just by signing up for this stupid race I get more freedom. It’s worth it already. I reach into the bag, pulling out running socks and sport bandages, both meant to prevent blisters, and a green
In Training
T-shirt.

Still digging in the bag as I enter the girls’ locker room, I bump into someone.

“Hey, watch where you’re going,” a voice snaps.

“Oh, sorry.” I start to turn away, but she’s not done with me. Neither is her friend. The two of them, dressed in identical race shorts and shirts, glare at me.

“I don’t know why Liam wants to train with
you
,” the brunette says.

“Yeah.” The blonde makes a show of sniffing the air. “You smell like dead people.” They cackle and congratulate each other on how cool they are. I remember them from grade school. They were snots then, too. I guess some people
don’t
improve with age.

“Maybe he’s tired of desperate girls like you who can’t keep up with him,” I say.

“So you think you’re better than us?” The brunette plants a hand on her hip.

I smirk. “I’m faster than you. And that’s all that counts in a race.”

The blonde narrows her eyes. “At least I don’t smell.”

“Actually, you do.” I sniff her as I pass by. Two can play at this game. “You stink like a sweaty avocado.” Actually, she doesn’t. I just know she works in a deli.

“Oh, my gosh… Do you really?” her bitchy friend asks.

The blonde’s face flushes, and she bends down to sniff her shirt.

I walk away, victorious.

“How was your day?” Mom asks as she breezes into the kitchen, grabs the soymilk out of the mini-fridge, and pulls a chair up to the metal kitchen bar. “Mine
dragged
. I’m so glad to be home.”

“My day was good.” I clear my throat. “I signed up for the Race for Citizen Glory. I even have a training partner.”

“You do?” Mom pours herself a glass. “Someone I know?”

“Nope. You’ve never met him.”

She pauses before taking a sip, the glass hanging in mid-air below her lips. “A boy?”

I nod.

“Even better.”

“Yeah, I think it’ll be fun.” I hand her a plate of pesto noodles.

She smiles. “Running isn’t fun, in my opinion, but I know you love it.”

“And I have even better news.” I grin, barely able to control my excitement. “Gus is taking me to the Human Disposal Facility.”

She grimaces, setting the forkful of noodles she was about to eat back down on her plate. “Why on earth would you want to do that?”

“Come on, Mom. Don’t deflate my happy balloon. This is a good thing for me. It means I’m being given more responsibility. It means they trust me.”

“You mean Gus trusts you. As far as anyone else…” Mom’s eyes dart around as if searching for someone to jump out at her. “Well, you never know what The New Order thinks. Let’s talk about something else.” She grabs the remote and turns on the news.

A perky anchorwoman flashes onto the screen. “Earlier today, the Representatives paid tribute to the fortieth anniversary of the WWIII ceasefire with compelling and, at times, fiery speeches. Their important words remind us of all we have to be grateful for here in Panopticus, the Green City of Peace, Unity, and Equality.”

Mom mutes the reporter. “Just look at Representative Waters-Royce! She’s practically full term, and she looks like she’s gained ten pounds, max. Probably hasn’t even gone up a size. How do famous people manage to look so good pregnant? It’s not fair. But, I suppose, after all the miscarriages she’s reported to have had, she deserves her chance at happiness.” She unmutes the program as the red-haired Representative Waters-Royce shakes her fist in the air.

“The Citizens of Panopticus are fortunate to be living in the year 2065,” Waters-Royce continues. “Because of the New Order, no one is homeless. Because of the New Order, unemployment is at zero percent. Because of the New Order, there is no more war. Rape and domestic violence have been eliminated. Unplanned pregnancies no longer occur—”

“How long do you think she’ll keep talking?” I ask.

“Silvia, don’t be so impatient,” Mom scolds. “Oh, look, is this what you were talking about?”

Now on the screen is the same race footage I’d seen earlier that day at the gym.

“Yes, that’s it!” I point. “That’s the race I’m gonna run—or win, if Liam has anything to do with it.”

She swallows, eyeing me closely. “So, his name is Liam, is it?”

I tense. Crap. Why’d I have to tell her his name? Now her nosiness will go into overdrive. “Don’t get too excited. He’s just a friend. Well, sort of. I mean, I’ve seen him around, but I’ve never talked to him before.”

“Maybe he likes you.”

I shake my head. “I think he just wants to win.”

“You
are
getting to the age where—”

I cut her off. “Mom, do you think I smell like dead people?”

She frowns. “Did he tell you that? Because, if so, don’t bother with him.”

“No. Some mean girls in the locker room said that to me.”

Mom sets down her fork. “Well, what did Liam say?”

“He told me I was the fastest girl in the place. He thinks I could win.”

Mom raises her eyebrows. “Really? I’d stick with him. He sounds like he’s worth your time. Ignore those worthless girls.”

I nod. I don’t tell her what else Liam had said. I don’t want to get her hopes up.

Because I’m pretty sure I’ll never be Chosen.

he next day at work, I double-check the bodies intended for disposal. All the corpses are lined up on metal tables. I move from one to the other. Has the microchip I.D. been extracted from the upper right arm? Check. Has the birth control capsule been removed from the left? Check. As usual, we haven’t missed one. On each body, the fleshy tissue has been incised two inches below the top of the shoulder, parallel to the long humerus bone. The microchips are collected for recycling of the electronic components. The hormone-infused capsules are removed to avoid contamination of the food and water since the ash from the burned bodies is used as fertilizer. Not every crop benefits. It all depends on the pH, but, as with everything else in Panopticus, nothing is wasted.

Gus says there used to be large open spaces where the dead were buried called “cemeteries.” That wasted too much land, so a new system had to be implemented. Any remaining graveyards were reclaimed as public property after the last war. He showed me a few pictures of old cemeteries that have long since been destroyed. The whole idea seems so odd to me—that families would want to stand above their loved one’s decomposing body. If everyone’s so grossed out by my job, then why did people, years ago, want to visit the grass covering a bunch of rotting corpses?

After checking the last prepared body, I close the final biodegradable body bag. I glance at the clock. “Gus, I’m all done. What do you want me to do until we leave for the Incinerator?”

He’s perched at his computer, filling out disposal forms. “Go home, nap, and eat, or whatever. Be back before dusk.”

I peel off my gloves. “Sure you don’t need me?”

His eyes remain on the computer screen. “No, I’m fine. Get some rest. We’ll be working late.”