Dead Girl Running (The New Order Book 1) (7 page)

A shadow crosses Gus’s face.

“You know, when I tried to kill myself, sometimes I think the only reason I didn’t succeed was because I didn’t know how to.” I trace a line down my veins. “Now I do.”

us covers my scarred wrists with his two large hands. “Silvia, have you talked to your mother about this?”

“Argued is more like it.”

He clears his throat. “What I mean is: did you tell her what the therapists said to you?”

I turn away as if to examine the metal racks housing the dead. “No, I didn’t. She had enough troubles, anyway, with work and dealing with her own grief, but things should get better now that she’s playing again.”

Gus is still watching me when I turn back. “It will look good for your family to have her perform again. People loved to hear her play. You might have been too young to know this, but Yoshe Wood was a famous name in performance music in her day.”

“Once, when I was alone in the apartment, I found an old recording of one of her concerts in The Archives. You should’ve seen her face when she got home. She looked so sad and begged me to turn it off, but maybe, now that she’s back in the orchestra, things will be different.”

“If I’m cooking something special, I always play one of those government-sponsored programs in the background.” Gus grins. “Makes me feel real high class. When The New Order rebuilt after the last war, they put a heavy emphasis on the arts.”

“Why? It seems like they’d have so many more important things to do.”

He shrugs. “That’s a valid point. The Five Cities initially formed to feed, house, and protect all the war survivors. Rebuilding was endless after all the destruction—windmills, solar panels, and greenhouses all over the place. It was a remarkable time.”

“What was it like? Living through The War, I mean.”

Gus’ shoulders slump. “Be thankful we have peace now. You have no idea what it was like, always being at war—and with so many countries at once. Everyone throwing bombs at everyone else. After the nuclear fallout, everyone rushed to the nearest radiation treatment center. My family came here, but everyone died except for me.”

“I’m so sorry, Gus.” I shudder, imagining what war would look like, remembering the pictures I’d seen in school. Flattened homes. Burned bodies. “Did
you
get sick, too?”

“No, but remember that was forty years ago. I was a robust young man in my twenties. One of the doctors
did
say that Ben’s cancer might have come on due to after effects. We’ll never know for sure, of course. People got cancer before the war, too.”

“How many people died really?” I want to know if what Gus says jives with what I learned in school.

“Before World War III, I’d guess America had a population of about 400 million. And now, it’s a tenth of that. Millions died instantly in the direct nuclear attack. Millions more died shortly thereafter with horrible, incurable ailments. So many people dying with no way to treat them. No way to stop their pain.”

I shiver, imagining a long hallway crowded with stretchers and dying patients crying out in agony. “Were you in medical school then?”

“No, I was still studying theater. But there was a real shortage of medical workers. After I watched my three sisters fade away, one after the other, I switched from theater to medicine and never looked back.”

I bite my lip. “Gus, I’m so sorry about your sisters. That would be awful to watch someone you love die.”

“Thanks, but everyone lost people they loved. Back before The War, everyone worried about population control. Now, it’s the opposite problem. There’s so much infertility. The miscarriage rate is three out of every four pregnancies when it used to be one out of three.”

I nod. “Mom used to light candles for her miscarriages when we celebrated my birthday.”

Gus releases a long breath. “No wonder you don’t like your birthday.”

“She doesn’t do that anymore. My first therapist made her stop.”

He raises his bushy eyebrows. “At least
one
good thing came of your therapy.”

I smile. “I actually liked that therapist. She was nice. But, after a month, they replaced her with some jerk. All he ever wanted to do was talk about my father which is ironic, really, since I was supposed to be
moving on
, you know. Not constantly dwelling on the past.”

Gus stares at me, an unreadable expression on his face. “What did that therapist ask, exactly?”

“Everything. What my dad ate for breakfast, what his childhood was like, who were his friends. It was stupid.” How I hated that man. My hands sweat as I remember the way he’d lean in close, asking his questions louder and louder when I’d refuse to answer.

Gus shakes his head. “I don’t know much about psychotherapy, so this isn’t what you would call an educated opinion, but that doesn’t seem very helpful to me.”

I shake off the uncomfortable memory and pat Gus on the shoulder. “Pretty much everything you say is an ‘educated opinion.’ Admit it: you’ve probably read tons on the subject already.”

“It’s possible.” He smirks. “Would you like some grapes?”

“Yes, please.” Time to focus on the present.

He hands them over. “I’m glad you’re better now. I’d like to congratulate myself on being part of the reason, but I pretty much think you did all the hard work yourself.”

The armored truck jerks up and down, and I almost drop my fruit.

Gus glances at the ceiling where the overhead light flickers. “We must be getting close. These roads near the periphery get a bit bumpy.” He reaches into a cooler bag. “Care for some milk? I’ve got both soy and rice. Which would you like?”

“Rice.”

He passes the bottle. “You know what I miss from before The War? Besides my family, of course? I miss cows. You know, you never got a chance to eat real ice cream, Silvia, and that’s a shame. Tastes a whole lot different now.”

“I still like it. Not that we eat it often.”

“That’s because you don’t know any better. You’ve never even seen a cow, except maybe in a picture, which is ironic since you were born here in the Midwest—in what used to be known as dairy country.”

I take a sip of milk. “What else do you miss? Besides cows, I mean?”

He gazes off into the distance. “I miss a lot of things: hiking in state parks, real hamburgers—also made from cows—and phones.”

“We still have phones.”

“Public phones, yes. But no personal lines. No portable cell phones like the one I used to carry around in my pocket. Everyone had them before the bombs destroyed all the communication towers.”

The truck hits a pothole that almost launches me from my seat. “No wonder you have to strap down the bodies so well.” I grip the bench below me to keep from falling off.

“Less than five straps per body results in quite the mess.” Gus pushes his falling glasses back up. “I forgot to inform you that our field trip included a free loosening of your teeth. But don’t worry—we should be there shortly.”

The vehicle squeals to a stop. Incoherent voices yell to each other outside. I stand up for a second then fall back onto the seat as the truck turns around and backs up. Soon, the lock slides with a sharp clank and the doors swing open. The truck fills with blinding light.

“We’re here at last.” Gus jumps up. He’s very limber for a sixty-year-old man. “You stay here for a minute while I talk to the Overseer. I’ll be right back.”

He hops to the ground and disappears from view. At first, my legs feel shaky as I stand and gingerly move about. I peer out the opening. The truck backed up to a black metal ramp. That should make it easy to move the racks of bodies into the building. I crane my neck to view the sandy grounds surrounding the Incinerator. The lot is vast and empty.

Gus hops into the truck again, rubbing his hands together. “We’re all set. They’ve got the records. We’ll move the bodies, starting with these two.”

We roll the first double stretcher up the ramp.

“Okay.” Gus pants. “The rest of the way is flat, so breathe easy.”

“How did you do this by yourself all these years?” I ask, working up a sweat as we push uphill.

“I had to ask the Handlers for help, but one: you’re a better conversationalist. And two: I got the impression they thought this was beneath them. Needless to say, I’m glad you’re here.”

Two by two, we transport all the bodies to a great room, loosen the straps holding them to the stretchers, and carefully place them on the wide conveyer belt. We roll in Gus’s storage unit full of supplies. He double-checks all the bodies again and collects their toe tags. After we finish, thirty-six bodies lie waiting to be consumed by fire. I glance ahead at the opening to the Incinerator. The air is heavy. We’ve only been here a little over an hour, and my skin already feels as if it is covered in ash.

“Creepy, isn’t it?” Gus follows my line of vision.

I nod. The gaping cavity is built of a reddish-black metal, almost resembling an open mouth. I wonder if this is on purpose, someone’s sick sense of humor. The room is blasted hot, and I’m sweating so much from the labor and the heat that I feel like I’m being slowly cooked both inside and out.

“Now what?” I ask.

Gus hands me a water bottle. “Here, drink this. Looks like you need it.”

I gulp down half the bottle before pausing for breath. “I don’t know how you’ve done this all these years.”

He takes a small sip of water. “This isn’t the easiest part of the job, but it has to be done. And I like it to be done right.” He gestures to the bodies awaiting cremation. “These people deserve respect. That’s why I’m here.”

The Overseer, dressed in what appears to be a fireproof yellow uniform, steps forward. “All set?” he asks.

“Yes.” Gus taps the toe tags bulging in his pockets. “All thirty-six bodies accounted for.”

“You’re staying to watch as usual?” the Overseer asks.

“Of course,” says Gus.

“Her, too?” The Overseer points to me.

Gus doesn’t look for my approval before he answers. “Yes. She’s staying, too.”

After the Overseer leaves, a moment of panic sets in. What if watching this brings back the nightmares of my father burning to death? I don’t want to go back there, to wake up in cold sweats, gasping for air, gagging on my fear. Just as I decide to tell Gus I can’t stay, the fires begin.

A whooshing sound fills the air, clogging my ears.

My heart stutters as I stare at the gaping hole.

Blue turns to orange. A great ball of fire flickers to life within the open mouth.

My mouth feels dry.

With a hum, the flames climb the walls.

The heat hits me, toasting my face. I force my shoulders to relax. I must watch this. I have to. I can’t pretend Dad’s accident didn’t happen.

The bodies move forward on the humming belt, each one dropping into the mouth with a dragging sound, then a hungry crinkle echoes as the flames lick up the sides of the body bag. One after another, the corpses disappear forever. My jaw relaxes. The air smells like the one time Mom left a pan on the burner too long.

I turn to Gus. “Thanks for taking me here.”

“And thank you for the help.”

I place a hand on his arm. “No, I really mean it.”

Gus presses his lips together, looking uncertain.