Fall of Venus (11 page)

But
he’s right. They stink of sweat and death. I get up and discreetly change into
an oversized tee shirt and clean underwear. As I am sliding them up my thighs,
Glenn shines the flashlight on me. “Glenn, stop!” I yell in a hushed tone. He
snickers and turns it off as I climb into the bed.

His
close proximity makes my skin crawl. Then Glenn touches me and the sensation
deepens into my muscles. His fingers draw up my hips over my waist, under the
tee shirt.

“Glenn,
please,” I say. “I just want to sleep.” I turn over to lie on my left side,
yanking my shirt back down.
 
He
leans over and wraps his arm over me and between my breasts in a hold that even
the sharpest illusionist couldn’t escape.

In
the background I hear the shower running. Marcus must have heard me earlier and
wanted to take one himself. Maybe it was him trying to open the door. I imagine
standing under the running water with him, flesh to flesh, embracing our carnal
desires. My heartbeat quickens and my skin warms at the thought. Glenn’s
twitching fingers bring me back to reality. I need to get some sleep.

But
I can’t sleep. Thoughts are spinning through my head that I can’t make sense
of. My suspicions about Glenn. The fear of losing Marcus. Whether or not I can
trust the COPS. How I might infiltrate Crimson and safely get Evie out of
there. Eventually, my brain fatigue forces me into a deep slumber.

I
awaken the next morning alone. Deep down inside, I’m hoping that this was all a
horrible nightmare and I’ll find my mother in the kitchen drinking coffee, my
father will be at work. As I walk by the mirror on my dresser lined with old
track and field trophies, I see my reflection and my hopes are crushed. The
crusty scab on my face is beginning to peel. I put on a jade camisole and a
pair of white knee-length shorts, grateful that I had the opportunity to shave
my legs last night. The pattering of water on the floor in the bathroom
indicates that Glenn is taking a shower. This would be the perfect time to talk
to Marcus.

I
go to the living room to check on him but, just as he said, he’s gone. The
blanket is folded up with the pillow on top and a note with my name on it. I
open it and read:

I’m sorry,
but I cannot stay any longer. I hope you and Glenn find happiness together. I’m
on my way to find Myra and join the COPS. I hope to see you soon.

He
signed it with a single heart. I crumple up the note and take it to the recycle
bin so that Glenn doesn’t see it. I think he already suspects something between
Marcus and me but he hasn’t said anything yet. I’d like to keep it that way. I
notice the newspaper sprawled across the floor where I left it last night. I
return that to the bin as well.

I
stroll back past the bathroom, and notice the bathroom door is ajar. I can’t
resist a peek.

I
peer at Glenn’s reflection in the wet mirror. The bathroom is dark, with no
windows to let in the daylight. The flickering candle from our room is the only
source of illumination but the mirror helps to broaden the light.

Glenn
leans over the sink washing his face with a blue washcloth. He drops it into
the sink, and then he fumbles around his eyes with his fingers.
 
Using his thumb and index finger, he
takes something out of his right eye: a contact lens.
When did Glenn start
wearing contacts? He’s never even worn glasses before
. I have to rub my eyes and focus to be sure I am
seeing this clearly enough through the darkness. My insides erupt in an
explosion of panic. The contact lens was not there to correct his vision. It
was there to disguise something, hide a mark that he didn’t want me to see. The
mark of the Trinity.

Chapter
13

His
eyes glance over at the reflection of the door in the mirror framed with
darkness. I slide away, leaning my back flat against the wall, praying he
didn’t see me. My breathing subsides as he approaches the door within inches of
me. The door claps shut. I release my breath in one quick sigh.

Like
a plummeting meteor I quickly head back to my bedroom, grabbing my shoes and
the flashlight. I need to get out of the house now. There’s no time to waste
packing up necessities. Maybe I can catch up with Marcus down the
road—but only if he left recently. It could have been last night for all
I know. Perhaps he checked Evie’s room and found that I was not there. He’d
know that I’d shared a bed with Glenn.

In
a kitchen drawer, I find the keys to my father’s car. I just hope it has enough
fuel to get me far enough from away. Away from Glenn.

The
door creaks as I open it. I freeze for a moment and hear Glenn on the other
side of the house, “Pollen? Is that you?” Adrenaline pumps through me and I
slam my hand on the garage door opener, close the door behind me, and race to
the car. The door is locked so I push the button to open it. But it’s not
working. I push again and again. The remote battery is dead.

Finally,
grasping the key with both hands, one violently trembling like an overloaded
washing machine and the other to hold it steady, I barely manage to get it into
the keyhole. Then I hear the click of the door unlocking.

Bending
over to get into the driver’s seat, I look back through the window of the
kitchen door and see Glenn coming around the corner into the kitchen, his hair
soaking wet, wearing only a bath towel around his waist. I toss my shoes and
flashlight into the passenger seat and the keys fling off with them. Panicked,
I slam the door and lock it.

I
look back again as I lean over to retrieve the keys and Glenn is opening the
door to the garage. My hands feel around the seat until I touch the sharp, cold
metal and grab the keys. I halfway expect to see him at the window when I sit
up to put the key in the ignition but he’s not there.

I
hear a loud rumble and the garage door begins to descend. Reaching up to the
remote control on the ceiling of the car, I press the button but it doesn’t
work. Another dead battery. My heart is racing and beads of sweat are beginning
to drip down my face.

Finally
the car fires up and there is Glenn, next to me, banging on the window,
pleading me to get out and come with him. But the garage door is coming down
and I don’t have time for second thoughts. The tires screech as I fly off into
the driveway, scraping the roof of the car as I pass under the closing garage
door.

I
swing the steering wheel to the left and zoom down the street. My heart is
pounding like a hammer trying to beat its way out of my chest and I wonder,
did
I do the right thing?
Maybe I just imagined
the eye tattoo. No. It was there. Clear as day. And it did seem unusual that he
would try to keep Marcus from leaving the house. Glenn has never been fond of
competition.
But why would Glenn betray me?
We’ve been together for five years. He wanted to
spend his life with me. This doesn’t make sense.

Part
of me wants to go back—the young, innocent, naïve me; the part of me that
has been slowly dying ever since I woke up in those woods. I feel a new me
emerging. A stronger, more confident, indomitable me that will not fall prey to
the cunning nature of the Glenns left in the world.

I’ve
been so focused on my thoughts that I’ve lost track of where I am or how long
I’ve been driving, although I’m sure it’s only been a few miles. Then I see a
figure up ahead near the edge of the woods.
Could it be him? Could it be
Marcus?
If it is, he must have left the
house within the last two hours. The figure dodges into the woods when he sees
me slow down. I stop the car and jump out, barely putting on the brake in time.

“Marcus!”
I shout. “Marcus is that you?”

Marcus
comes shuffling out of the woods reluctantly, eying me with uncertainty.

“Hurry
up! Get in, he could be here any moment!” I yell. He shakes away the
uncertainty and dashes to the car. I get back in and see a black truck coming
towards us in the rearview mirror just as Marcus closes his door. It’s Glenn’s
truck. There’s no time to lose so I put the car in gear and slam my foot down
on the gas pedal, forcing Marcus’s head back into the seat.

“What
happened?” he asked.

“He’s
one of them. I saw him taking off a contact lens this morning. He has the
mark,” I say. The old me would have broken down and wept. But not anymore.
Instead, I channel my aggression into the gas pedal to try and put more
distance between Glenn’s truck and us.

“I
knew something wasn’t right,” Marcus says under his breath.

“You
know, I don’t need an ‘I told you so’ right now,” I say.

“Of
course,” says Marcus. “What you need is a partner.” He puts a reassuring hand
on my shoulder. The smirk on my face can’t describe how good I feel right
now—being here with Marcus, being strong enough to run away from Glenn
and knowing no matter what happens, I’ll never really be alone again because
all the strength I need is within me.

“I’m
sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry I fell for him and put us in danger. We should have
just stayed in the bunker.”

“No,
Pollen,” says Marcus, “He knew we were there. He would have waited. Or found
us. There’s nothing you could have done. I’m just sorry I abandoned you. If I
had stuck around we could have dealt with it there and avoided this.”

I
slow just enough to make a right turn, then another immediate left, with
screeching tires, trying to evade the truck. But it continues to draw closer to
us. I make another right turn to get on the highway ramp. Now I’m able to pick
up real speed. The highway is straight, with very few curves and obviously no
traffic. I press on the gas until I’m going about one hundred fifteen miles per
hour, zooming past trees and guardrails in a blur. Glenn is still behind me,
but is keeping a steady distance.

Marcus
leans over, looking over the back of his seat. “What are you looking for?” I
ask. He digs through pockets, under seats and in the glove compartment.

“Something
to deter your fiancé,” he says.

“Right,
my fiancé. I can’t believe he’d do this to me,” I mutter.

“Got
it!” says Marcus. He opens the sunroof, stands up into it, and tosses something
on the road behind us.

I
look in the rearview mirror and see Glenn’s truck swerve violently off road,
crashing into the guardrail. His truck spins back into the roadway, flipping
onto the passenger side, and finally coming to rest in the center lane.

My
stomach turns and I feel suddenly nauseated at the idea of what we had just
done. After all, Glenn and I do have a history together. And I don’t want him
to get hurt, even if he is out to capture us. I look back again. It doesn’t
look that bad. I’m sure he’s okay. At least that’s what I tell myself.

I
turn to Marcus, who is leaning between the seats looking back at Glenn’s truck.
“What did you throw?” I ask.

“Lug
wrench,” he says, still looking back. I suppose he wants to make sure Glenn
doesn’t recover and continue the chase. After about a minute, Marcus relaxes
and turns back to the road.

“So
what’s the plan?” he asks. “Where are we going?”

My
mind goes blank. “I have no idea. I had to get out of there as fast as
possible. I didn’t have time to plan anything.”

We
pass under a sign that reads

Exit 78

Gambit Hill Road

1 mile

“Take
the exit at Windfield Harbor. It should be about five or six miles from here.
We’ll go to my place to figure out our next move,” Marcus says.

But
we don’t make it that far. Just around a slight curve we approach a barricade
of vehicles across the highway. Ten men in blue uniforms are standing in front
of the blockade with guns pointed directly at us. Glenn must have reported us
already. I only have a few seconds to react, so I slam my foot on the brake and
veer the car sharply to the right to try to make it to the exit ramp. Marcus
and I are thrown to the side of the vehicle and I can only hope I slowed down
enough to avoid flipping the car.

Suddenly,
I hear the sound of gunfire and a loud boom. The car veers left and right, out
of my control, until we slam into a ditch, just off the exit ramp.

I
hit my head on the top of the steering wheel and can already feel a welt rising
up just above my hairline. For a brief second, I’m confused, disoriented. They
must have shot out one of the tires. Then I come to my senses. We need to get
out of here. Now.

“Marcus?”
I say. My neck is stiff and it hurts to do so, but I turn to look at him. He is
unconscious, head against the dashboard. “Marcus! Wake up!” I scream, shaking
his arm. But he is not coming to. I know we didn’t crash that hard. He should
be okay, but I check his pulse just to be sure. Yes, he’s just knocked out.

The
crash of breaking glass startles me and before I have time to react, a man in
blue is jabbing a syringe into my arm. Then, blackness.

Chapter
14

Indescribable
chaos. After the virus unleashed its deadly blanket over the country, the world
seemed to crack apart at the seams. Neighbors turned on each other.
Well-respected citizens became criminals. A highly evolved race of people
became brutal savages. Evie and I holed up in our house and were oblivious to
the nature of our new society. Our first experience with this barbarous
pandemic is one that I’d never thought I’d forget, although I did.

I
took Evie into town one day to pick up some groceries. I didn’t watch a lot of
TV after my parents passed so I didn’t really know what to expect. Our bunker
was fully stocked with canned and boxed food, but we needed some milk and a few
other perishables.

We
took the back roads into town and in hindsight that wasn’t the wisest choice.
If we had taken the main road, we would have turned around, gone home, and
avoided the pandemonium erupting in town.

Sick
people were crawling along the streets. Well people trampling over them, some
even beating them with metal poles into a bloody pulp. Others were breaking the
glass on shop windows and looting them of every last item. The roads and
sidewalks were covered with vomit, feces, and bloodied facial masks. As Evie
and I walked down Main Street hand in hand, I recognized a local shop owner
crushing some poor man’s skull with a fire extinguisher. He looked up and we
made eye contact. I gulped and my heart raced. When he took a step toward us,
we ducked into the grocery store.

The
grocery store looked like a tornado struck within the building. Shelves were
bare and broken. Ripped boxes spilled crushed cereal and dried pasta all over
the floor. Evie and I carefully stepped over broken glass shards and the soles
of our shoes peeled from the sticky floor with a
criccht!
The floor of the produce department looked like one
giant salad bowl. People were running amok through the aisles. Infected people
standing in the long, twisted line for the pharmacy were beating each other,
trying to get ahead in line.

I’d
never seen anything like this in my life. Well, maybe in movies and on TV, but
that’s nothing like actually living it. The fear. The panic. The despair. It
all came crashing down on me and I knew I had to get out of there.

I
grabbed Evie and turned to leave, but a woman blocked our path. Her face was
ghost white and sagging, with sunken orifices for eyes. Her skin and clothes
laced with blood. She grabbed my shoulders and coughed blood in my face.

“Help
me please! Help me,” she begged. I squeezed Evie’s hand and shoved the woman
off of me. She fell to the floor with a thud. I’m such a horrible person, I
thought. I didn’t even look back.

Outside,
a tall, lanky man tried to grab Evie. But I refused to let go of her hand. He
was stronger than I, so I had to run along with them for a short distance,
before my hands found a heavy brick on a ledge outside a shattered shop window
to pummel him with.
 
I picked up
Evie and carried her while running down Main Street, dodging sick people and
evading the crazies. Back at the car, as soon as the engine started, people were
climbing on the hood, clawing at the windows like some horrifying scene out of
a zombie flick. I drove off, not caring what happened to those poor souls.

From
that point on, Evie and I stayed home and kept the doors locked. We stayed
peacefully in the house, playing dolls and games, sharing stories, and dressing
up. Until we were taken away. I will find her again. Nothing will stop me.

My
body is stiff as a corpse in rigor mortis. I am lying on an icy cold, hard,
metal surface and my limbs are strapped down so tight I couldn’t move if I
wanted to. My head is hammering and feels like it is squeezed on both sides,
like a child popping a balloon. Whatever place I am at now, the light must be
blinding since I can see the bright red of the undersides of my eyelids. It all
comes back to me—the car crash. I know I’ve been recaptured and I’m
terrified to open my eyes and face the reality that lies before me. But I can’t
keep them hidden forever. I can’t be selfish now. I have to find Evie.

I
hear the hurried footsteps of multiple people all around me, along with some
hushed voices, and the clanging of small metal tools. My eyelids flutter and
open into a bright spotlight shining down on me, piercing my skull like a
dagger. I think I’m in some sort of medical facility: white walls, bright
lights, machines with patterned lights flickering, and trays of scalpels,
forceps, and other small instruments.

“She’s
waking up,” I hear a hard female voice behind me. Everything is still a little
blurry, but I manage to regain some sense of consciousness fairly quickly. A
balding spectacled man, wrinkled with age, leans over me and flashes a light
into my left eye, then my right, and repeats this a few times. I try to turn my
head to look around, but it won’t budge. It’s stuck in a vise.

“Do
you know where you are?” the man asks me in a deep husky voice, aged by too
many years of smoking.

My
voice comes out hoarse and breathy, but I manage to mouth, “Crimson?”

He
turns to someone outside my field of vision and nods then walks away. There’s
more shuffling around me and the table under me vibrates. The table begins to
tilt, angling my feet downward as my head rises up, until the table is almost
vertical and my feet nearly touch the floor. Three armed men in blue uniforms,
Enforcers, stand rigidly in front of me. One of them holds my hands down as my
arms and legs are released from their restraints, while another prepares to
cuff them. The third man just stands in front of me aiming the barrel of his
gun at me in readiness. As if I could possibly flee in this condition.

After
I’m released and cuffed I am escorted out of the wing. My legs are heavy and
wobbly and the Enforcers are forced to halfway carry me as I clumsily try to
take steps, tripping over my own toes. I’m still too busy trying to orient
myself to worry about where they are taking me. They march me down a long
hallway, descend several floors in an elevator, then by the time my feet catch
up with me, we are meandering through a tenebrous labyrinth. The hallways are
made of stone and thick, steel, numbered doors line the walls every few feet.
The air is cold and damp, and smells of mold and mildew and urine. Wherever
they are taking me, it’s certainly not going to be paradise.

We
finally stop at door D319. While two Enforcers hold me on either side, the
third Enforcer takes off a glove and places his hand on a monitor next to the
door. There is a double beeping sound and a light flashes green. Then he places
his eye next to another, smaller, monitor to be scanned. Another double beep
and green flash. Finally, he slides open the heavy latch, causing an
ear-piercing screech to echo through the labyrinth. The two Enforcers drag me
in, although I don’t put up much resistance. The door slams shut and I can hear
all the screeches, clicks and beeps of the heavy door being locked behind me.

My
prison cell is no larger than the bathroom I took a shower in last night.
Was it last night, or have I been out longer than that?
A single light bulb that hangs from the ceiling is
barely bright enough to cast a shadow. In the back left corner is a dingy
toilet. No toilet paper. No sink. No bed. No chair. Nothing but a nasty toilet
and a light bulb. I feel a discomfort in my belly and I begin to heave, but
nothing comes out. I am cold and dehydrated, but I am not ready to give up. I
am on a mission. I have found purpose in my life and I will not give up until
Evie is safe and far away from this nightmare.

Nobody
has spoken to me since I woke up. I don’t know how long I will be in this
dungeon, but I’m sure it will be a considerable amount of time. Time to think.
Time to remember. Time to plan.

I
sit on the floor against the wall furthest from the toilet. I notice my
headache beginning to fade—they must have given me painkillers in the
medical unit—but the burning in my temple still remains. I’ve been tagged
again, just as Myra warned. The fuzziness in my mind is clearing and I’m
worried about Marcus. I envision his limp body lying against the passenger
door, and I, unable to revive him. He must be here somewhere. Is he getting
medical attention? Is he down here, in one of these cells? I have to find him,
but
how?

My
mind is overwhelmed with thoughts racing in and out. They run through so
quickly I have little time to focus on anything specific. I need to quiet my
thoughts and sink deeper into my psyche if I am to figure things out.

I
think back to a yoga class I took while I was pregnant with Lex. At the end we
would do a five-minute meditation to relax. I take a deep breath, filling every
inch of space in my lungs until I can hold no more air, then I let it out with
one long, voluminous exhale. Then again. Then again. I continue to breathe and
force my thoughts to subside until my mind is clear and empty. I have no
concept of time now. My meditation takes over and I am sinking deeper and
deeper into my own inner sanctuary. Finally, I let go. A void fills my mind,
slithering its way down to the tips of my fingers and toes, where I reach a
point of tranquility.

But
soon something enters my mind. A thought. No, a memory. It’s Marcus. We are
standing next to each other in a room full of people I don’t recognize. I’m
crying. He puts his arm around me and asks if I’m okay. I look up and see those
breathtaking sea blue eyes looking down at me in concern. Then another memory.
We are running in a field surrounded by darkness and spotlights, being chased.
Marcus turns to me and tells me we need to split up. Then before we part, he
holds me close and anchors his lips to mine, in a moment I wanted to last forever.
Our first kiss. Then he pushes me away and we run off in separate directions.

My
repose is disrupted when I hear a thundering at the door. It screeches open
slightly and a figure walks in, closing the door behind him. I stand up,
steadying myself on the wall until the dizziness subsides. As the figure draws
closer my heart thumps with anger. I raise my arms above my head, still
handcuffed, and bring them down on Glenn’s face, leaving claw marks in his
skin.

He
grabs my hands and holds them down, presses me to the wall and forces his slimy
mouth to mine before I whip my head to the side breaking free of it.

“Who
the hell are you?” I scream at him.
   

“Polly,
I’m so sorry. I never wanted this to happen. Not like this,” he says.

“I
don’t want your apologies. I want answers,” I demand, scowling at him.

Glenn
loosens his grip on me and brushes his hand over his hair. The dim light
highlights his boyish features and also reveals a shorter haircut since I last
saw him. A glimmer reflects off his cheek where a drop of blood is forming over
the scratch I just gave him. His jaw on the left side is swollen and I notice
some other superficial cuts, and assume they are a result of the car crash.

“I
know,” he says. “And you deserve to know the truth. Polly, you can’t keep
running. You can’t defy these people. You won’t survive.”

Who
is this man?
Where is the Glenn I knew and
loved? The man standing before me knows nothing about me or what I’ve done to
survive. This man disgusts me.

“So
you want me to be like you. You want me to join them and be one of them, so
what? So I can bring this upon other innocent people?” I wave my cuffed arms
around me indicating the deplorable conditions I’m in.

“Polly,
they put you down here as punishment. Because you ran. If you would just come
with me, pledge your loyalty, we can be free again. You and me. We can have the
life we always wanted.” Glenn draws closer to me, beginning to place his hands
on my shoulders, when I suddenly move aside to avoid his touch. It makes my
skin crawl.

“No,
Glenn. That’s not the life I want. I don’t think it’s what you want either.”
I
turn away and lean my shoulder against the wall. It’s all I can do to keep from
falling over and it helps me to hide my frailty from him.

“All
I want is to be with you,” he says lightly brushing my cheek. I snap my head
back, ready to drive my teeth into his fingers if he tries that again.

“You’ll
never be free, Glenn. Once they are done with you, you’ll be one of us. The
only difference is, you’ll be among the people you yourself turned in. I doubt
they will be very forgiving.”

Then
they start coming back. The memories start flooding my mind and my body starts
shaking with anger and fear, and despair. I specifically remember a
life-altering exchange between Glenn and me here, at Crimson, and now I
understand. Now I know why I felt so troubled with Glenn at my house, why it
felt so wrong.

“We’re
done, Glenn. Get out,” I say, glaring at him. The tension in the room changes.
I can feel the anguish pouring from him, even though he refuses to show it. But
despite my feelings for him I stand my ground. I have to look out for myself
now. And Evie. And Glenn cannot be trusted anymore.

“I
said get out!” I shout as I push him toward the door. He pushes it open then he
turns to look back at me. All I can see is his silhouette against the light in
the hallway.

“I’ll
always love you, Pollen. Remember that.”

The
door shuts and I can hear the scraping of the latch securing it. I lean my head
on my arms against the wall and release the tears I’ve bottled up. Then I
explode like a psychotic woman, screaming my frustrations into the emptiness,
kicking and punching the thick stone walls. After I’ve thoroughly discharged my
rage, I sit back down, feeling stronger and more resolved than ever. I don’t need
him. Never did.