Sam pulls his shirt collar in agitation. "Why's it so hot?" He slumps over, his gaze trailing over the paved sidewalk before landing on a huddled mass of swaying grass. His face lights up as he reaches for Mara and drags her forward.
Her eyes delight at the sight of the knee-high, variegated grass. "Are these real?" She reaches out to grab one of the blades and pulls it between her fingers. "I knew they used plants to help oxygenate the upper levels, but-" she eyes the long stretch of cut green grass straddling either side of the sidewalk, and dares to step on it. She grimaces. "Definitely artificial."
Sam waves the bush of taller grass at her so that a few blade tips skim her cheeks. She giggles.
"But this is real," he says, his fingers lingering on the fistful of grass. "How awesome is that?"
Mara's blond curls bounce around her temples. "It's double awesome."
I clamp my hand on her shoulder which sobers her expression instantly. Sam drops the grass, folds his arms over his chest, and mumbles something about me "ruining everything."
"Time to split up," I say, my voice soft.
Mara takes my hand in hers. She pokes at my fingers as she shuffles her feet against the pavement. "Will you be alright?"
I clasp the bag at my side and force a smile to surface. "I'll be fine."
Reaching up, I take the dot at my temple, peel it off, and move it to a more hidden position behind my ear. I do as Della told me to and press down on it for ten seconds. I turn my head to the side. "How's it look?"
Mara lifts on her tiptoes and inspects the flesh were the dot should be concealed. She comes away shaking her head. "Can't see a thing."
"Hate to say this, but Izzer knows his way around tech." I wrinkle my nose and allow my tongue to lull out of my mouth. "Ugh. Heaping praise for that creep...its like saying something nice about Senorita Perez over there."
Marava glowers. "Go fu--"
"Go do this mission successfully and get us all out alive?" I finish.
Marava scowls.
"No matter the situation, I'll always find time to shower you with my brand of kindness."
Marava lunges at me, a hiss whistling through her clenched teeth, but Jonathan wraps an arm around her waist with lightning speed and holds her snarling and snapping self back. He ignores the saliva dribbling down her chin and says, "You'll give us the signal for the drop?"
I nod which seems all the go-ahead Marava needs. She frees herself from Jonathan, grabs his hand, and sends me one last glare, before stalking off down the sidewalk. She and Jonathan make a left toward a mass of apartment buildings before disappearing under their shadow.
Sam reacts similarly, wrapping an arm underneath Mara and pulling her ahead. Without thinking, I grab the back of Sam's arm. He glares down at my fingers, as though the sight of them, the touch of my skin on his, is enough to get him to lop off his arm. I don't relent. Instead, I suck in a breath. "Hey." Using all his strength, he squirms free. "Be safe," I say.
He responds with a snort before walking away, Mara dragged behind. They veer left, as per the plan.
It doesn't take long before I'm left by myself, The edge of my forefinger grazes the top of the camouflaged dot. I let my finger linger, holding the dot down. Ten seconds. Twenty. A counter appears in the corner of my vision, in faint neon green, much like the timer that would begin for tests at the Facility.
01:00:00.
...
I take the road that cuts down the middle of the Homestead. It doesn't take long for the sidewalk to widen into a road
"Praise Dove," one of the guards says.
My blood ices over. I stop, glance at the officer who's addressed me. A maskless man, twenty or so, with ruddy cheeks and a pimpled complexion. His hair is a tangle of straight black locks tied back by a thick, black cord.
Nodding, I curl my lips into a smile, and reply, "Praise Dove."
My words lack the sarcasm I'd typically say them with. I can't take chances here, can't afford to, not when that guard could undo his ponytail, take the cord, strangle me in broad daylight and end my life here and now for treason against the nation.
He returns my smile and steps toward me.
Shit.
A soft chuckle comes from his lips. I crack one eye open. He smiles. "Everything alright, miss?" I raise my head. Blink a few times to make sure I'm seeing straight. Not an ounce of recognition flickers in his gaze. That couldn't be possible, could it?
Considering I don't have much to lose, I take a gamble, force a return smile and say, in my sweetest voice, "Sorry," I reach for the bag still outstretched in his hand. His smile broadens. "I'm not feeling too well today."
Opposite us, his companion, an older, angrier looking man with deep wrinkles and patches of grey hair, steps off the curb. He whistles and the boyish guard turns away affording me a second of reprieve.
"Langford," the older man calls. "About time we start patrolling, yeah?"
Langford chuckles. "I guess." He turns back toward me and bows his head. "Can't have any fun when he's around," a smile forms on his face and freezes, as though he's waiting for me to laugh. I manage something akin to a chuckle which is enough to pacify him.
"Guess I'll get going then."
He turns around and all I can see are the two guns he has at his disposal, one grazing his hip, the other slung over his shoulder. Either could blow my brains all over the road. Langford stops mid-stride. A blue ring encircles his right iris. He's been connected to the Network, where plastered everywhere, is a picture of myself. I gulp. "If you don't mind me asking, what's your name?"
"Ivy." Thank god I'd managed to memorize my old friend name
He nods. "Good luck, Miss Ivy, have a nice day" He waves at me as his companion grabs him by the collar and pulls him onto the curb.
My insides flip over on themselves. I feel the acidity of vomit clawing at the back of my throat. My hands go numb. Forcing a smile, I lift my arm and return his wave.
...
Langford had been dragged in the opposite direction and yet I couldn't shake the feeling he was still watching me. It's a crazy notion to have, but if he'd been tapped into the Aviary Network, he had access to every drone on active patrol, and could easily spy on me from above.
As I reach down to stuff a bottle into my bag, Della's voice crackles over the comm. "One-zero?"
Reflexively, I slink behind someone's mailbox, where a pair of painted, beady chicken eyes look down at me mid-squawk. Ensuring the decorative chicken is my only witness, I whisper, "I thought you said radio silence unless imperative."
The comm crackles again. "You had an incident of increased heart rate," Della says. There's an unsettling softness in her voice that makes me think she might have been genuinely concerned. "Something wrong?"
I shake my head and hunch over, burying myself elbow-deep in a pile of wrinkled clothes as I set about pretending to sort them by color. "Christ, what else has Izzer modified on this comm?"
Della snorts. "If I told you, it would ruin the surprise that comes with discovering something new."
I snort. "Because that's what I need right now." Hiding behind a crumpled, stained blue work shirt which reeks of body odor and stale beer, I add, "It wasn't a big deal. Just a militia getting friendly, is all."
"Trying to make the Chemist jealous?"
Heat rises to my cheeks. Hopefully, the comm doesn't also pick up on changes to body temperature.
"One-zero?"
"I've got the rendezvous point insight. Heading there now."
"I'll keep the commlink open so I can hear what goes on."
I raise an eyebrow. "Expecting a double-cross?"
Della chuckles. "You never know. I deal with plenty of assholes. Over and out."
The Community Hall sits like a beacon of hope atop a hill at the heart of the Homestead, a group of men and women assembled around the small, paved patio, where a table and four chairs have been set up underneath a canopy of brown linen, dressed in their best - pressed trousers and suit jackets for men, long skirts and silk blouses for women.
Gathering my hair forward to conceal my face, I stride toward them, picking a weed and slipping it into my bag when I come across one, which is rare, considering the amount of attention the Hall gets daily. The glass doors slide open as I trip their sensor and I slip in, hopefully unnoticed. A cool gust of air blows down on me, drying the sweat that has gathered around my shirt collar. Soft music hums throughout four speakers hovering in each corner of the expansive room.
At the far end, a holographic projector, twice the size of the ones I'd seen, shows Councilman Dove's face in vivid clarity.
I take another step forward. Several rows of rich mahogany tables line the hall. On the right, recessed into the wall, sit a dozen dispensaries. A crowd shuffles before them, eager fingers coiling around ejected paper cups filled with their mandated daily dose of Sunshine, birth control, and a slew of other colorful prescripts. If David were here, he'd be able to recite each of their names and what they were for. This thought, along with the image of David's face that accompanies it, makes me smile, lessens the tension wheedling through my shoulders and down my back.
A woman smiles as the machine spits a half-dozen pale pink pills into her cup. With one final, metallic wheeze, the machine deposits a purple pill, etched with a smiley face into her cup before the screen returns to black. She takes the cup in silent reverence, lowers her head and mouths the words, "Thank Him for He is our Truth." She shuffles to an empty table, plops herself in a chair, and shoves the Sunshine Vitamin into her mouth. Underneath the woman's swinging legs, the green numbers of the counter reappear.
00:30:00.
I'm running out of time.
Behind the woman who's hungrily scarfing down the rest of her pills, a man in his mid-twenties sits alone well removed from the burgeoning crowd. A visor covers his eyes. Pinned onto this man's lapel an enamel dove of the FUA Futures only this one has been turned on its head, purposely. It was a sign. This was Della's contact.
I take a deep breath, steel my nerve, swallow down every shred of fear trying to steer me back in the direction I came, and make my way to him.
"May I sit?"
The man presses a pale finger to his temple and the visor fades. Blue eyes stare up at me. He casts a brief glance at the chair beside him and nods. "It's unclaimed."
I return the nod and plop myself down, relishing in the release of pressure off my ankle. "Thank you."
The man narrows his eyes as he looks first at the bag in my hand and then at the one situated over my shoulder.
"Busy day, isn't it?"
I heft the bag of Elysium onto the table. The wood creaks under its weight, the bottles inside clinking against each other. "Idle hands," I say. "I'm glad to be able to help my community."
He taps three fingers against the table. "And to help out your country."
I smile as a group of people walk past us, chattering away as they go through their bags, pulling out empty food cartons, discarded soda cans, and FUA approved pamphlets. Nothing incriminating, which explains the grimaces on each of their faces.
"Praise Dove," I say as I watch the group exit through the glass doors.
The man nods and leans back in his chair. "I'm Matthew." A smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "Della too scared to show her face?"
Near my ear, the dot crackles to life. "Tell that little shit, I'm not --"
I scratch behind my ear in hopes of scrambling the signal. Thankfully, Della's voice cuts out.
"She's occupied," I say.
Matthew runs a hand through his hair and nods as though he'd expected this reply. A thin, skeletal finger uncurls from Matthew's hand and points at the bag. "That everything?"
I do as Della instructed. While the strap remains over my shoulder, I unbutton the bag and give Matthew a glimpse inside. Blue liquid sloshes against glass containers. Like Matthew's pin, they catch the light and dazzle like liquified sapphires.
Matthew's smile widens across his face. He reaches up, taps the dot and a screen materializes before his face. He pulls at a few of the numbers that hang in the space between us, relocating them from one side of the screen to the other. When he's done, he swipes through the screen which makes it disappear. "Check with your leader. The money should have transferred to her account."
I make to move some hair behind my ear and let my finger linger on the comm. "Well?"
After a few seconds of silence, Della's voice comes across clear. "Money's there. Give him the vials and tell the others to make the drop. Over."
I free myself of the bag and slide it across the table. "Looks like she's satisfied." I tap the comm again. "It's time."
Jonathan's voice floods my ears. "Heard. We'll make for the drop spot." I nod at Matthew. "The rest will be waiting for you."
Matthew grins. "Doesn't take much, does -" His eyes go wide as he focuses on Hall's entrance.
I whip around, my heart racing in my chest. A girl, lead by two burly men squirms under their grip as she's led toward one of the tables nearest them. Matthew tenses. His hand squeezes the strap of the bag.
The girl's blue eyes roam over the space as one of the men slams her into a seat. Tears well in her eyes. Dirt smears the floral-pattern dress she's wearing. Her gaze locks on Matthew's with instant recognition.
He squeezes his eyes shut, opens them, turns toward me. I look back at the girl, and the two men standing sentinel beside her. Red marks, like stripes of paint, run across their shoulders. One of them reaches into his waistband and lifting the front of his shirt, flashes me a hint of cold, black steel. A gun.
My teeth clench. "Ma-Matthew?" I try, miserably to conceal the panic flooding my every word.
Matthew throws me a sympathetic look, his lips twisted in a sincere smile that hits me like a bullet train to the gut. He'd betrayed Della. Those men were going to kill me. Kill the others.
He grips the bag tighter, the whites of his bones stark against his taut skin. "My sister," he says, his gaze darting between myself and the girl. "They said they'd-" he looks down at me and shakes his head. "If I didn't, they'd..." His voice trails off as a scream escapes the girl.
Matthew shoots to his feet, yanking the bag of Elysium off the table. It crashes to the floor and vials of David's work shatter. Blue liquid stains the fabric seeps along the floor. Matthew steps over it reach out. "Lyra!"
The girl squirms free of the men's' grasp and stumbles forward, her hands bound in front of her. "Big brother!" One of the men grabs a fistful of Lyra's hair and jerks her back. She falls hard as a look of pain shoots across her expression, hardening the soft lines of her cherubic face. Matthew begins to run toward her, but the other man pulls his gun and aims it at Matthew's head. He freezes.
I frantically look around for an exit, but there's only one way in and out of the Community Hall - the front doors. This was it.
"Ten."
Cool, calm, and collected the voice slithers into my ears. Like a breeze on a humid day, it cuts through the suffocating tension building in the Hall. Slowly, I spin around. Councilman Dove smiles at me, his digitized face no longer spewing pre-recorded compliments. Horror, true absolute horror, seizes me as I realize the feed is live.