Feed (15 page)

There he was. Standing casually, if a little awkward, like an average man. Hands in pockets. His silver-flecked black hair looked messy and somewhat greasy, as if he hadn’t showered in days.
What
is
he wearing?
She wondered. In all the pictures, he’d been wearing dress-shirts and black corduroys. It was like a uniform. This morning he wore canvas work-pants and kicked a rock aimlessly with a booted foot. Aimlessly! With work boots! The women beside him were equally odd. A blonde girl who looked like she belonged at a prep school, and whose taut skin marked her younger than Bethany. And a black-haired woman with a sharp, pale face and wide eyes, who somehow seemed older than her years. Bethany guessed she was in her thirties, but there was an air to her of…suffering, perhaps that marked her older.

Bethany’s eyes flicked back to the awkward man.
What’s this?
Her gaze caught and her heart skipped a beat when she saw the scabs on his cheeks. Who had marked him?

As though he heard her indignant thoughts, he turned and caught Bethany’s gaze. She could almost see his extremely blue eyes beneath the lenses of his glasses. He seemed to smirk and sigh, his chest appeared to deflate a little as though he knew what was about to happen. For some reason, it made her smile.

She strode the small distance across the dead weeds to stand before the threesome, hearing Chance keep pace behind her. “You didn’t get dressed,” Bethany muttered to him.

“I didn’t want to miss this,” Chance whispered back.

“You need to follow my orders better. We’ll talk about this later,” she said quietly.

Coming to a halt, she crossed her arms over her chest. “I never imagined you showing up here,” Beth said, without introducing herself. That could come later. For now, she wanted to disarm them.

“Excuse me?” the older woman said, very businesslike, just as Bethany expected.

“And you are?” Bethany said in an insistent voice. Make them answer.

“Blythe. Who are you?”

“Well Blythe, I’d like you all to answer my questions before I tell you anything, if you don’t mind. See, this is my camp, and you’ve just trespassed. These people are my responsibility. I need to determine if they’re in any sort of danger.” A look of guilt flickered across Blythe’s face. “Ah. So they are. At least I know, now, and we can be prepared.” Beth looked at Chance, who nodded and trotted away in his bare feet. “Now then, how did you find us. And
why
?”

“Ghosteye sent us,” Blythe said.

It was as though a fist clenched her heart, smothering the life out of it. Beth kept her outward composure, however, she was sure. Ghosteye? She hadn’t heard that name in months. A year, at least. The last time was Chance. And she’d told him to shut up or else she’d destroy all his weed.

“You know him, then?” Blythe asked, apparently better at reading faces than Bethany would have liked. “You must be Bethany.”

Beth felt her smile falter. “So. I hardly expected the father of the feeds to find us, to just show up on my doorstep like this. You probably don’t know how often I’ve imagined our meeting, sir.”

He took a step back at her verbal onslaught. “I—I—” he stuttered. “I’m not that. I’m not the ‘father of the feeds,’” he said, but there was an obvious tone of guilt in his protest.

“Didn’t think I’d know you? We do. Most of us. You’re the reason we’re here.”

A clamor behind her interrupted the conversation. Beth turned. A crowd followed Chance who was still wearing only a pair of shorts. But that wasn’t the surprising bit. The surprise was the man he dragged with him, a man in a dirty suit, gagged, with hands tied. Chance threw him to the ground. The man fell onto his face, his hands sticking off his back at an awkward angle, unable to catch himself. Why would he tie up this man and not the others?

“He was following them,” Chance said, disgusted, then spat, “He’s an Enforcer. Look at his left hand.” Beth’s eyes fell to his hands. She stepped gingerly over him and felt the small, implanted button that marked an Enforcer of The Organization. The
Decemviri
. Beth’s stomach clenched. The day had started out so promising with that perfect sunrise.

“Is that why Ghosteye sent you? So
they
could find us?” She asked the small group as she turned back to them. That’s when she saw it, the look of fear on his face. Sweat gathered at the hairline of his silvered temples and his fists were clenched at his sides. Beth swore it was all about to click, everything, coming into place in some kind of revelation, but then he spoke.

“No. I’m sorry. You’ve probably been here a while, living rather peacefully and we’ve just brought a war to your doorstep.” The fear vanished. Beth watched it melt away in an almost caricature of that emotion—nearly unbelievable it was so visible. As visible as the fear, rage swept across his blue eyes, once clouded, now clear. His cheeks trembled. Suddenly he moved, stiffly, to the Enforcer who he pushed over, taking the man’s throat in hand and squeezing. Chance was there in seconds, prying the fingers away.

“No, you fool, no!”

Blythe hurried to his side and began pulling him away. “Stop, stop!”

Beth watched, unsure if she should interfere, but the two of them succeeded in freeing the Enforcer, even though, really, Beth didn’t care to save the man’s life. Just his knowledge.

She sighed. “Please, Ramone, come with me.” Ramone looked startled that she knew his name. “Yes, you’re famous around here. Hadn’t you already gathered that?” Beth moved toward the pavilion in the center of camp. “You can bring your friends. Chance, put the Enforcer in the brig.”

“You have a brig?” the prep-school girl asked. Hurrying to keep up.

“Of course. Every good camp needs a brig,” Beth said, laughing dryly.

*****

Bethany was irritating. Blythe thought it with a sigh, running her fingers through her hair. Frustrated, she pulled the band out then smoothed her hair into another ponytail. The act made her feel more in control. Now she could handle things despite how greasy her hair felt—she hadn’t showered in days.

First Marci, now Bethany. Was Blythe destined to hate everyone? Were there any women out there she could respect?

She bit her fingernail, and crossed her arms, avoiding the reason behind her dislike of both women. Oddly, the woman she should be most threatened by—Sue—she felt nothing for. Maybe because she trusted that Ramone was finished with her, despite how he sounded when he spoke to her on the phone. It was their swan song, wasn’t it? Ramone knew she was gone. That was how he could let her hear love in his voice again.

But what if that confession brought her back to him?

Blythe buried her face in her hands. She was seated around a small campfire in a folding camp chair. The thing was uncomfortable and the fire, well, she was going to smell like smoke, but there was something consoling about the pale flames in the daylight. Marci played with a twig as she sat next to Blythe, in a camp chair of her own, throwing bits and pieces into the campfire.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Marci asked.

Blythe peeked out between her fingers. Her shoes were covered in dust despite being almost brand new, and the cuffs of the work pants, though folded once, were nearly black from being dragged through the dirt.

“I don’t know. Don’t care. As long as they don’t hurt him,” she felt her stomach turn at the thought of someone hurting Ramone again. She sat up and took her hands from her face.

“What’d you think of that girl? Beth? You knew who she was, didn’t you?”

Blythe nodded. “My source mentioned her name. I don’t think he knew she’d be so . . . important. Sounded like she’s the leader.”

“So who’s this Ghosteye, then?” Marci asked casually. The stick in her hands was down to just a few inches. Marci glanced at it impassively before throwing the rest of it into the fire.

“I don’t really know. There wasn’t a lot he could say, you know, because of the—” Blythe gestured half-heartedly at the air around them, intending to indicate everything. “The cameras, you know.”

“Oh right. It feels weird, doesn’t it? I mean, I don’t believe it. Can’t wrap my mind around
not
being watched,” Marci said, smiling. She never pulled her eyes away from the fire, as though enthralled by it. At least it wasn’t a slate. Or a feed.

“That’s because you’ve never known anything else, really. You’re a kid.” She realized after she said it, that the term sounded derogatory, though Blythe hadn’t intended it that way. Usually she was more in control of her tones. Her emphasis. Events had derailed her. She wasn’t being the Blythe she knew. The feeling was liberating and frightening all at once. Next she’d be streaking through camp nude like some kind of Lady Godiva. She found herself smiling and blushing, wondering if Ramone would like that.

“You know, you don’t have to be such a bitch all the time,” Marci said, giving Blythe a jolt. The girl’s eyes were no longer on the fire, but on Blythe, burning with their own fires.

Blythe opened her mouth to protest, but the girl cut her off.

“Don’t try to justify it. The thing is, I know you can be nice. And I only know that because of the feeds. I saw you with Ramone, alone. You were professional, and sometimes that came across as brusque. But you were also kind.” Blythe tried to speak again, but Marci kept going. “I know, I know, it’s because you’re in love with him. Everyone knows that. The entire world. Anyone who watched that feed. And maybe you feel safer, being bitchy and all, but no one buys it, because they’ve seen you with Ramone. We know you can be sweet. So why not try that? For Pete’s sake, it’s not like Ramone’s going to have eyes for anyone else.”

“If you think any man’s heart is safe like some sort of corralled horse, you’re going to be disappointed,” Blythe answered, after a few moments of thinking. What the hell was she supposed to say to the girl? “They’re men, sweetheart, and their hearts roam. They end up in the warmest bed that’s willing to fulfill their fantasies.”

“So what is this ‘sweetheart’ bull crap? You think I’m so naive that I think all you have to do is wink and he’s yours? That’s not what I’m saying. Sure, there’s something there, some kind of weird magnetism there. He has it. He’s Ramone. I have no idea what’s going on there. But I’m pretty damn sure I told you how, you know, I’ve been around the block a time or two and I know what heartache feels like. He doesn’t want me. He wants you, Blythe.”

Blythe glowered at the fire, as though her stare might turn it to ash before it had time to finish burning. This was embarrassing. How did she keep ending up in conversations like this? And why the hell couldn’t she be more magnanimous anyway? It wasn’t as though Ramone were hers. She should have the class to be gracious and let him have whoever he wanted. If Marci wanted him and he wanted Marci, then why the hell not? And if Bethany wanted him and he wanted Bethany, then why the hell not?

It sickened her, that was why. The idea of him with . . . Anyone else, even his wife, for the love of all that was holy, made her stomach shrivel.

“We’ve been over this before,” Blythe whispered harshly. “Let’s not discuss it further. He doesn’t belong to me or anyone. His wife—he has a wife, you know? Yes, you know. You’ve watched the feeds. You heard him on the phone with her. He belongs to her, if anyone.”

The sound of footsteps crunching over dry leaves made them both turn in their chairs. Ramone watched them a few paces away, his face stony and cold. Beside him stood the hippy girl, Bethany.

“Ramone,” Blythe said, embarrassment flushing her cheeks. How much had he heard? “Please, come sit down.”

Bethany sauntered over to the fire and sat down in an empty chair across the fire from them. Blythe’s gaze follow her, too afraid to watch Ramone and too embarrassed to look him in the eye.

“Now then, Ramone tells me there’s been some . . . Developments out there, in the ‘real world’.” She made air-quotations around the phrase. Blythe struggled to not roll her eyes, half aware of Ramone approaching the fire and sitting down. Her racing pulse quickened in response to his presence. Strange how even though they’d been together for days now, he did that to her.

“What, exactly, did he tell you?” Blythe asked carefully. Though Ghosteye trusted Bethany, Blythe hardly knew Ghosteye. How much could she trust him? And even more this woman, Bethany?

“Well, let’s start with the Enforcer in our little camp brig. We understand he was sent to deal with Ramone. Ramone wouldn’t tell us much of what that entailed, but being slightly familiar with the work of the Enforcers, we can guess. I wouldn’t request Ramone to go over that again anyway,” she said, sitting back and crossing her legs. Blythe hated to admit it, but the girl wasn’t the usual hippy. At least not what Blythe expected of them. Bethany went on, “And he tells us you’ve been in contact with Ghosteye. Do you know who Ghosteye is? Ramone doesn’t know much about him, understandably.” She made a sweeping gesture with both hands, apparently to demonstrate the air, the world, and thus the nanocameras.

Blythe shook her head. “I don’t know much either. He’s an Editor. He could see me. He saw Ramone. I think he rebelled and let everyone watch the Enforcer—” she glanced at Ramone, “torture Ramone.” Blythe watched him as he flinched slightly. Marci hissed and slapped Blythe on the arm. It was cruel, maybe, but Blythe thought it would help him. “That’s how I knew to stop him before he killed Ramone.”