Gods of Anthem (24 page)

“For what?”

“Kiniva. The people in the black market don’t all speak English. Manda told me the purge makes you live forever, but they don’t take anyone from Section. I wonder who started that rumor.”

“Well, half of that’s true,” says Jeremy.

Disgust makes my voice rise. “What?”

He nods.

“I wonder why. Strengthening the divide, maybe? Turning one class against another? Eternity for the wealthy; protection from becoming a zombie, but only for the few, breeds hatred.”

Jeremy laughs. “It’s all lies, though.”

“Does it matter if they believe it? Besides, I think we can help.”

“How?”

My sudden idea puts me on my toes. “What if you spoke at the dog fights?”

“No way.”

I cross my arms. “Think about it. Put out pamphlets so both sides can come and listen to what you have to say. You said it yourself: they’re asleep. But what if you’re simply targeting the wrong crowd?”

Jeremy’s eyes flick to the side—a nervous movement I’ve never seen him make, even on death row. “I’m not sure that’s wise.”

“Ha!” I punch his shoulder, having stolen the move from Manda. “Who would have thought: Jeremy Writer, a man for the people … an utter and total
snob
.”

Jeremy grins, rubbing his chin. “Fine. Do it.”

Kiniva’s a lot
harder to get ahold of than simply waltzing in, unannounced. He’s currently on a run, and no one’s going to just give me an itinerary of his return.

Today, as I leave the courthouse, a man in a trench coat and hat pulled low emerges from the fog, startling me. He hands me a piece of paper and, tipping his head with a chilling smile, he’s gone again, but not before I’ve noticed a dullness to his eyes. It was the same as the girl’s had been from the black market.

The paper he gave me has an address, and underneath, it reads:
X marks the spot
. There’s also a number: four.

After dressing more casually before hailing a cab, I head to that part of North Anthem, a side of the city that’s new to me. It’s better paved, aptly lit, and certainly more decorated. The skyscrapers are newly built on this side of the city, most stacked so high they seem impossibly crooked, leaning in like they’re trying to touch each other across the street.

Everyone knows Downtown is no longer the heart of the city; the Authority has built farther in this direction every year. With too many convicts to count and everything being illegal, the lower classes rubbed closer to the “civilized” than was comfortable. There’s an evident gap of city we cross where a remedy for that has been made.

Gregarious showcases of fine goods sparkle through the windows on both my left and right. Diamonds—real diamonds—glitter in tantalizing displays, and although the clothing’s still colorless, it’s better made. The shops near the very heart of Ash City fairly glisten.

And there, amongst them all, is my worst nightmare: the medical plazas.

The cab stops, and I exit on stiff legs to gape upward in astonishment.

Blinding, even in the fog-dimmed sunlight, three buildings stand interconnected by the center monstrosity that’s scraping the smoky clouds. Side structures adjoin it by suspended sky walks. All of these are pristine, too, made mostly of giant windows.

After my fill of this, I approach the walkway toward the entrance.

Down in the courtyard is an electronic display for visitors, and a woman pops up to ask in a robotic yet warm voice: “How can I help you?”

When there’s no reply, she smiles, cocks her head prettily, and says, “Welcome to FLUMC, where professionalism and comfort are the priority of the Authority. Here, at Floridian Medical Center, we host a number of physicians using the latest in technology and medicinal advancements to keep our city the healthiest place in the world. Press the display, and the information for each section of our hospital will be given in a virtual tour.”

I numbly press the left building, and this makes her chirp in pretend happiness, “Cyberoptics: what was once a dream can now be realized.”

On the screen, children with replacement limbs run around on a playground while grinning adults read with robotic eyes. A grey-haired man jogs robustly on a treadmill, most of his body replaced by metal.

“Live longer, live stronger. Our motto.”

My mouth hangs open. In Section, people can’t even get their cavities filled, and here, they offer to make people half robot?

The right building is a common physician’s area, for colds, simple sicknesses, and basic practice. Also the “dreadful flu” is brought up in that guide, with warnings and instructions on how to quarantine yourself once stricken. Of course, first contact the Authority. Symptoms listed are almost exactly as those when becoming a zombie. Go figure.

Lastly, in the center and largest building, it’s apparent what happens there. It’s the testing unit for cancer.

“Here at Floridian, we guarantee your loved ones will be immediately transported, for the best care and protection of our citizens, to one of our lovely facilities on three local islands.”

Three…?

My stomach drops.

So that’s why Bodega had shrunk; they’d been making more of them. A lump swells in my throat as the screen shows me Camp Bodega. Inmates laugh and walk through the halls, enjoying themselves, drinking coffee, while children are happily learning in schools. They make it seem like your average holiday, a vacation. Even the girls wear wigs, and my eyes close upon the rest of the fiction.

My hands rest upon the receiver without my realizing it. “Did you have a question?” the lady asks.

“It’s a lie,” I say to her smiling face.

People passing by shoot me a glance and speed up their steps.

“It’s a lie!” My clenched fist slams against the screen before I can stop myself. I turn to the nearest stranger. “This thing is lying! We don’t … they … they’re
not
happy!”

Security strides through the sliding glass doors, and I get a grip on myself before they can weave in my direction.

I shield myself behind a pot of plants, waiting with my head down, for them to leave. My watch reads ten till four. The paper had said four.

After the guards move on, a quick scan of the area reveals an X taped to the ground in the plaza.

Careful to keep from being noticed this time, I sneak over to stand on it.

When the alarms go off, the hospital doors open and people stream from all three buildings, unhurried, certain that it’s a drill. The crowd flows around me where I stand still on the X.

Once the evacuation’s complete, the alarms cut. But before anyone can re-enter, lights in each building begin to go out. One by one, sections turn black, except for in the center building. In that one, a shape defines itself out of the dark-versus-lit windows—a giant grinning skull, too many stories to count begins to form—and the crowd gasps at the skeletal face now looming over the city. The jaw hangs open as if in a laugh … or a scream.

It’s an eerie sight.

Then, a jolt rips through the ground and wind blows my hair back. Windows shatter one by one in a tinkling rain of glass before bright orange-and-red flames flare out through the side of the center building. A bomb. The second deafening blast sprays more glass, and this time, fire consumes the entire section, billowing black smoke into the sky.

The cancer testing and relocation facility is bisected, before it falls like a domino. It crumbles to the earth like it was made out of something fragile and not pounds of concrete, as floors collapse in on themselves, taking the skull, section by section, along with it. Dust and ash coats us as twisted metal accordions in a matter of minutes. The building went from skyscraper to barely a few floors, landing in a billowing heap. The demolition is expert.

Other than their severed sky halls, the two side buildings remain untouched.

I’m grinning from ear to ear like a lunatic, coughing from the smoke, yet smiling, barely keeping myself from dancing in the snowy ash that falls.

Sirens bring me back to my senses. Fire trucks force the crowd back, engines of all grey pull up and guards begin to swarm the area, too.

It’s simple enough to ease into the crowd, and I’m instantly lost in the chaos.

Jeremy
meets me just around the corner from my place, face glowing, hair sweaty from whatever he’d been doing. “Liza, did you see?”

He races forward and scoops me into his arms. He’s covered in ash, too, and Jeremy howls as we spin, making me giggle.

“Of course I saw! It was amazing!” I wrap my arms around him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

When he sets me down, I’m embarrassed. My skin tingles from his touch.

Jeremy fixes a stray curl that’s come out from behind my ear. It’s getting so long—for me. He cocks a brow in question, but I’m the first to look away.

He’s more comfortable with this part of our relationship; I’m still in the “I can’t believe my luck” phase. Worry and doubt are my go-to feelings.

Jeremy decides something and grabs my hand. “Come on.”

“Where to?” I ask, though I really couldn’t care less.

“You’ll see.”

With my hand warm in his larger, stronger one, I’d walk off a cliff right this moment … and maybe I am.

“Recruiting time,” he says, and a glimmer of the Jeremy I’ve come to know flickers back—the passionate one who’s on the job, one thousand percent.

I get the feeling that I’m about to see behind the curtain.

Already he’s towing me along, his purple eyes alight with excitement.

It’s hard not to let it bother me, that subtle shift from being the object of his attention, to slightly left of center.

As he pulls me back toward the city, my sigh is long. It was a nice moment while it lasted.