Dead Girl Running (The New Order Book 1) (6 page)

I grab my gym bag. “Actually, I’m supposed to go running outside today.” My feet feel light, as if on springs.

He cocks his head. “Outside?”

“Yeah. I signed up for that Race for Citizen Glory. Now, I’m allowed to run outdoors on select routes. I even have a special training uniform.” Okay, I’m not so psyched about the uniform, but running
outside
. That’s going to be so different from what I’m used to with the treadmill. I’ll actually
go
somewhere for once, not just run in place.

“They’re doing that again, already? Used to be every ten years, but now it seems more like every five. Well, take it easy. Don’t forget you’ll be up all night, helping me.”

I grin. “How could I forget?”

Gus turns back to his computer. “I’ll bring snacks.”

I head out the door. My heart races before I even reach the gym. I can’t wait to run outdoors. Not that most of the approved routes are exciting or anything. I’ll mostly be running in between tall, glass buildings. The only scenic part is in the Park, but I’d use any excuse to spend more time amongst the plants and trees and flowers.

I jog up the stairs of the Gym, slide my card, and push my way inside. I hurry past the front desk when a voice interrupts my thoughts.

“Silvia Wood? I have a message for you.” The female attendant reads from a hand-held screen. “From Liam Harman… ‘Sorry, I can’t make it in today. But I should be there tomorrow. Run fast—pretend I’m chasing you.’” The girl smiles as she slides over the monitor. “That Liam is so cute. Here—I need your electronic signature that you received this message.”

I sign, my shoulders slumping. Now what do I do? Run outside on my own today or wait until tomorrow for Liam? He’s basically a stranger to me, so I’ve no idea how reliable he is. Waiting for him might be a bad idea. I drag my feet to the locker room, undecided. I don’t know Liam enough to miss him, but I do miss the sun on my face. What a letdown. After getting dressed and leaving the locker room, I stare out the window for a moment. I consider going out on the government-endorsed routes on my own. In or out? What should I do?

After changing my mind ten times, I turn away from the glass-filtered sunlight and enter the workout room. Several of the treadmills are vacant, probably because so many people are taking advantage of the outdoor opportunities. I type in my code and settings and let the world melt away as my legs come to life.

Fully relaxed from my post-run yoga class, I go back to work, eating a nutrition bar on the way. There’s still at least an hour before dusk, so I can probably nap before we leave. I descend into the chill of Mortuary Sciences and glance around. Gus is nowhere to be seen. He must’ve gone out to get something to eat. All the prep tables are empty except for one. I drop my bag and move closer.

Jars of colored powder, bags of hemp-tipped applicators, and wrinkly sheets of some strange material I’ve never seen before cover the table. After some hesitation, I pick up one of the sheets. It’s lighter than a piece of paper—more like a tissue.

Gus enters the large room with fabric lunch sacks hanging off of each arm. “As you can see, I also had some free time today.”

I carefully set the sheet back on the table. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t mind. I think I’ve already told you this, but before I spent ten years in medical school, I used to work in theater and costume design.”

“Yeah. I vaguely remember that.”

He rearranges the table, sorting the pieces by size. “Do you have any idea what this is?”

I shake my head.

Gus grins. “It’s magic. Here, I’ll show you.” He sets his arm on the table, dips an applicator in adhesive, and then brushes it across his skin. He picks up one of the smaller sheets and smoothes it onto his arm.

“And now, the final touches.” Gus grabs another applicator, mixes pink, red, and purple powders, then dabs them in an expanding pattern on his skin. “Viola! A birthmark.”

I touch his arm. “But it looks so
real
.”

“Of course it does. I used to be quite good at this. Naturally, you have to modify your technique for something up close versus from the stage.”

“I’m impressed. What else can you do?” Gus is amazing. So many hidden talents.

“I could make you look ten or sixty. I could make you black, white, or any shade in between. I never got too good with reshaping noses, but—”

“How about burns? Can you do burns?” The question bursts out before I can think about it.

Gus flinches.

“Come on. I’ve been here three years now. You never let me see the burn victims. You don’t have to keep protecting me like that. I
want
to know what it looks like.” I need to see it for myself, since that’s what happened to Dad. That would make his death more real because I need to believe he’s gone. A tiny part of me keeps hoping that, someday, he’ll come back. It doesn’t make any sense, but sometimes I feel like, instead of The New Order, it’s
him
who’s watching me.

Gus pauses. “That’s a bit more difficult. Give me your hand.”

I pull up my sleeve and rest my arm on the cool metal table. I don’t mind if Gus sees my scars. Instead, he concentrates on the transformation. After applying adhesive, he layers three sheets over my hand and wrist, scrunching them in spots and stretching them in others. He dips into the colors over and over again. Sweat beads on his brow as he labors. Fifteen minutes later, he sets down the last applicator.

“Well, Silvia, what do you think?” he asks.

I flex and extend my fingers. “It looks
awful
!” My skin appears raw, the fingers blackened and charred, the flesh pulling away from the bone. “This is amazing. It doesn’t look like makeup at all. It looks real. At least to me. Not that I’ve ever seen a burn victim up close before.”

“Unfortunately, this is
precisely
what a burn victim looks like.” He sighs. “Now, you know why I don’t let you see them. Because that ten-year-old girl who lost her father is still alive inside you.”

I hold up my hand in awe as flashes of my dad’s face and the layers of char on my flesh melt together in my mind. I move my fingers and images flicker in my head of all the workers who burned to death in the fiery explosion. After the accident, the news focused on the story for days, posting pictures of the victims smiling with their families. The whole city mourned their demise while my eyes remained dry. Painfully so. I couldn’t grieve because I couldn’t believe Dad was really gone. It took the therapists a long time to convince me of the truth.

My shoulders slump. “I get your point.”

The back door of Mortuary Sciences slams open. A Handler in full black uniform marches two steps into the room and halts. “The bodies have all been loaded. We’re ready to go.”

“We’ll be there in five minutes,” Gus replies.

The Handler exits by the same door. Gus tosses his makeup supplies into a side drawer.

“How do I get this off?” I ask, still staring at my deformed hand.

He gestures toward the sink. “It washes off, but you’ll have to use the industrial soap.”

As I scrub in the sink, Gus rolls out a tall tool chest, double-checks the contents of the drawers, then turns to me. “When you’re done, grab those lunch sacks. And bring an extra sweater. The refrigerated car’s even chillier than this room.”

The back door of Mortuary Sciences leads to an underground loading dock just big enough for the transport truck to pick up the bodies. We step into the dimly-lit area. Two Handlers wait on either side of the truck. We climb onto the back, and the door locks shut as we take our seats. Gus flips on the travel lights. Now it’s us and the bagged bodies. Everyone who died in the last month in the Northwest District rests on the rolling double stretchers before us, awaiting their group cremation. Each black bag is strapped down to a silver bed, one above and one below, like bunk beds for the dead.

Gus hands me a sandwich. “The scenery isn’t great, but I guarantee the eats are good. Made them myself.”

The metal floor shakes beneath our feet as the truck roars to life.

“How long does it take to get there?” I ask before taking my first bite.

“Oh, about an hour. Not bad. But I’m afraid you won’t get to see much of your Plant Production facilities riding in back with me where there are no windows. You might get a glimpse of it once we get there. It will be dark out, of course, but it’s pretty lit up even at night.”

“That’s all right. I’m actually more interested in what’s
inside
the Plant Production buildings, although I suppose I’ll never get to see that.”

Gus gives me a sympathetic smile. “Your mom’s okay with me keeping you out so late?”

I laugh. “As long as I don’t talk to her about working Human Disposal, especially while she’s trying to eat, she’s okay with it. She doesn’t find it a very appetizing topic of dinner conversation.”

Gus chuckles. “I bet.”

“I feel bad she’s eating alone tonight.”

“Doesn’t she have anyone else?” His question hangs in the air.

I pause before answering. “No. Just me. People try to set her up all the time, but she refuses.”

“Yeah, I can understand that. Sometimes, trying to find someone new is ten times more lonely than accepting the fact that it’s over, and you’re on your own now.”

“So, there’s been no one since Ben?” I ask, hoping I’m not getting too personal.

He clears his throat. “Of course not.”

“Then I have an idea. Why don’t you come over to our place for dinner sometime?” I would love this. Mom could get to know Gus better, and maybe, if he impressed her, she’d stop bugging me about my job. Plus, I’d like to give Mom something to do. She never invites anyone over anymore, and this might liven things up.

He raises his eyebrows. “Are you sure your mother would approve? We might talk shop.”

I laugh. “Yes, I think so. I’ll ask her first, of course. You’ve never seen our apartment, you know.”

“Too bad I can’t see your old place. The way you describe it, it sounds heavenly, almost like an indoor arboretum with all those plants in there. No wonder you wanted to go into Botany Sciences.”

“Yeah.” I pick at my sandwich, not because it isn’t good but because he’s hit on a touchy subject. “Our last place got way more sunlight. Once we moved, the plants started dying, one by one.”

Gus nods. “I know it’s standard policy, but, sometimes, it seems like pouring salt into a wound to make a family move after their loved one dies.”

“Did you have to move, too, when Ben died?”

“Of course. Everyone does. I guess it makes sense, conserving resources and all. And, in fact, it might have been for the best. Ben died at home, and I cared for him at the end, so staying there might have been too hard.”

“What about your things? Did you get to take all of it when you moved?”

“Yes, of course.” He cocks his head to the side, watching me. “Even my La-Z-Boy. Man, that thing is ancient. I’ve re-covered it twice. It was my father’s. But why do you ask?”

“I don’t know.” My memory of the day we moved is still so fuzzy. “It’s just… some of our belongings went missing when we moved. Mom swears she packed them. She thinks it’s my fault, that I misplaced the boxes or something. We still fight about it sometimes, but I swear I was as careful as she was and didn’t throw anything away. I wouldn’t.”

Gus glances around as if someone besides the dead bodies can hear us in this noisy, bouncy truck. “What went missing?”

“Mostly my dad’s stuff. So, it shouldn’t matter, but I’d like to have his things to remember him by.”

“I bet you miss your dad quite a bit.”

“I think about him every day.”

Gus frowns. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Isn’t it weird how everybody says they’re sorry? It’s not like they had anything to do with it. It’s not their fault. They’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

He pats me on the back. “Well, I’m sorry just the same.”

I stare at my hands. “My therapists told me Dad’s death made me grow up faster.”

“You kids grow up too fast already. Full time jobs by fifteen—or highly specialized schooling.” He pauses. “That’s where you should be, you know.”

“Where?”

“Medical school. They need more students who are ‘empathetic.’ Plus, you’re whip-smart. You remember everything I tell you. I never have to explain things twice.”

I frown, thinking of the real reason I’m not in medical school or at the Plant Production facility. The Suits and the therapists would never let me. Tears sting my eyes. “You’re the only one who says nice things like this to me… besides my mom, I mean. But she has to. I’m her daughter.”

“Well, you deserve it.” His voice is kind. “And everything I said is true.”

I shake my head. “My therapists didn’t think so. That’s why I turned to running and yoga to fix myself because they make me feel better. Therapy only ever made me feel worse. All my therapists told me I was too emotionally unstable for higher learning and that no one would bother teaching me.”

Gus shakes his head. “They’re wrong. I’d be happy to teach you anything I know. And, as you well know, I
am
a genius.”

I smile weakly. “I’ve learned a lot from you already, more than my mom would probably like.” I rub the scars on my wrists. They itch every time I think about my first suicide attempt.