S.W. Tanpepper's GAMELAND: Season Two Omnibus (Episodes 9-11) (53 page)

She didn't know what a convict was and hadn't bothered to ask, but she did know that murderers killed people. It was a horrifying concept to contemplate. How could a person do something as terrible as that? She found it hard to believe anyone could do that, especially these people. Despite her dislike for them and their histories, she didn't think they were capable of doing anything horrible. They seemed so quiet, and slow, and clumsy.

She decided that it had to be a raccoon in the gutter behind her. She was thoroughly convinced that's what the fur was. Of course, she couldn't see it anymore, now that they'd moved. The hood of the car behind them was in her way.

Did killing animals make people murderers? Would her mother be made into one of these people? Would she?

Cassie didn't want to become property.

The dancing statue was gone now. At least it wasn't standing over the dead raccoon anymore. Cassie turned the other way, suddenly certain it was sneaking up on her. But it wasn't there.

She scrunched down in her seat and clutched her stuffed toy rabbit tightly to her chest. Her mother's eyes narrowed at her in the mirror. “Everything okay back there, honey?”

Cassie nodded stiffly, biting her lip so the whimper threatening to crawl out of her chest would stay put. The puke, too.

The tired eyes shifted up, away from Cassie's face, out to the scene behind them.

“Can we go?” Cassie pleaded.

The car inched forward, then jerked to a sudden stop. Behind them, someone honked.

Cassie closed her eyes. She wished she were home instead of in the car. She wished her father lived with them again instead of all these towns away. She wished Ben Nicholas were here with her. And Shinji.

And Remy.

What did he look like now? Was he all flattened out too, after all this time? Away from the sun? Was he just bits of skin and bone, inside of his tiny, dark coffin?

She had only gotten to see him the one time, at the hospital, behind glass. She'd sensed something was wrong even then, had known it with the certainty of all of her six years on the planet.

Almost seven.

But her parents' excitement over the birth had been contagious. It had forced her terrible worries away. Their optimism made Cassie doubt herself, make her think she was just being a stupid, jealous big sister. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the tiny, beautiful little baby brother.

Until there was.

“Come on!” her mother snapped, startling Cassie. The sound of the horn filled the car. “Damn it! Your father's going to be pissed that we're late.”

Cassie watched her mother lean forward to call him on the dashboard phone. She repeated along inside her head the pattern of beeps which she'd come to recognize as her father's number.

“Lyssa?” His voice sounded flat coming through the speaker. There was no hint of anger or impatience. “I was just about to call you. I was worried. Is everything all right? You on your way?”

“We're off the highway, but we're stuck in the middle of town at one of the construction sites. They've got the road dug up. You should've told me they were digging things up!”

He sighed. “I didn't know. It's Sunday, but I guess they're working around the clock now. What's your ETA?”

“We haven't moved a foot in, like, ten minutes.” She huffed in exasperation. “I don't know why they have to do this all at once.”

“They want everyone switched over by the end of the summer.”

Cassie's mother growled. “Yeah, but why us? Why does Long Island have to be first?”

“It'll be over soon. Anyway, listen, when do you think you're going to get here? Because I have some paperwork I—”

“I don't want you working, Ramon. Cassie needs your full attention when she's there.”

“I do give her my full attention.” He sounded hurt.

“Really? You don't just let her do her own thing?”

He sighed. “Is that what she told you, that I ignore her? Because if she—”

“She doesn't have to tell me anything. I know you. You've been too wrapped up with work lately.”

There was nothing but silence from the speaker for a long time. Outside, Cassie could hear the low rattle of the workmen's tools and the muffled shouts of the man in charge, the one wearing the yellow hardhat and the fat goggles with the black lenses and the funny-looking gloves on his hands. He was the only one who ever spoke, and when he did, it was always in a shout.

It was time to check on the dancing statue again. Cassie needed to know where it was.

“Look,” her father said at last, “I know I haven't handled the past couple of months as well as I could've, but you have to admit, neither have you.”

“I lost a baby!”

“
We
lost him, honey. No, that's not right, either. He died and not because of anything we did or did not do.”

“Babies don't just die!”

Another sigh. “Listen, it might be time we got some professional help because this doesn't seem to be working. There's a therapist—”

“I'm dealing with it just fine!”

Cassie cringed at the harshness in her mother's voice, feeling it roil her insides even more than they already were. She thrust her feet against the back of the seat, as if to keep it away.

Before Remy, her parents almost never argued. But after they came back from the hospital, it seemed like it was all they ever did. That's why her mother had asked her father to leave. But even then, the fighting continued.

“Stop pushing on the seat, Cassie!”

Cassie sighed and twisted her head slowly around, searching for the scary dancing statue. If she found it, at least then she'd have something to direct her anger toward. The sunlight bounced off the window of the car behind, blinding her for a moment. She squinted against it and turned to the sidewalk.

The dancing statue still wasn't there where the raccoon pancake was. It wasn't on the other side of the road, either.

“I just need time,” she heard her mother say. “And space.”

Where did it go? And why was it dancing?

Quietly, she unlatched her seatbelt. Then, slowly, carefully, she swiveled onto her knees. She didn't really want to see it, but not knowing where it had gone was making her stomach feel really, really bad.

“I disagree. We need to work togeth—”

“Time and space. That's what
I
need, Ramon. That's all I really ever needed.”

“Honey, we—”

“Look, I just called to let you know we were going to be late. And to ask you to pay attention to Cassie while she's there. Not to fight. Just promise me no paperwork. Or phone calls. It's the weekend, for Christ's sake. Spend some time with your daughter for once.”

“I wasn't—”

The call disconnected.

Cassie shielded her eyes from the glare and squinted at the vehicles behind.

The motor revved, and they moved forward a car-length. The tires crunched over something that sounded like bones, though it was probably only gravel. But at least the glare was finally out of her eyes, and she could see the woman behind them.

The old lady smiled and waved at her. It was a shiny, brand new car, something you'd expect to see a much younger person in. A tiny dog sat on her lap, its hair just as white and curly as hers. It yapped mutely at Cassie through the windshield before turning its attention to the workers and barking at them. Cassie returned the wave, then quickly swung her eyes back to the empty sidewalk.

There was the sandwich shop her father had taken her to the first time she'd come to visit him in his apartment. A couple offices in the corner. A print shop. She recognized it because of the giant American flag on the too-short pole on the roof. The parking lot was nearly empty— only a couple cars, probably because of the construction. A man stood outside the print shop and watched the workers. He took out a tissue and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He looked worried.

“Cassie, why are you—? Get back in your seat, young lady!”

“We're not moving.”

“Don't argue with me. Just do it.”

Cassie tried to see past the white-haired lady's car, but a truck blocked her view.

Maybe it went back inside. It's too hot to be dancing on the sidewalk.

She wondered why there would be a little Statue of Liberty here, as if the real, giant one had shrunk while walking across the water on its way to Long Island. Why was it dancing like that, gesturing to the people walking past? It wasn't even close to being Halloween. And why was it so scary-looking?

Anyway, it was gone now.

Behind her, she heard her mother open her window, heard the rattle of the machines outside and the engines and voices grow louder. She felt the sweep of hot air on the back of her neck and her bare legs, felt the brush of its thick, dry fingers on her hair. With a sigh, she turned back around and reached for her seatbelt.

The light coming into the car had dimmed. Cassie glanced up at her window, thinking a cloud had passed across the sun. But when she saw what it was, this time she couldn't hold back the gasp.

The terrifying dancing statue bent down over her window and grinned, its mouth just inches away from her face. But then it stepped to the side, and it reached in toward her mother.

Cassie's throat tightened, turning the cry into a choked scream.

“Afternoon, ma'am,” the scary statue said. Cassie thought his skin was sloughing away from his bones, but then she saw that it was just his makeup peeling from the heat of the day. He tiredly removed a single sheet of paper from the stack he was holding in his elbow and extended it into the car. “We're protesting the new tax proposals. If you could read this—”

An impatient voice yelled at them from the work site and gestured for them to go. The white-haired old lady behind them honked, a sound more cheerful than urgent.

“Thanks,” her mother mumbled. “I'll read it later. I have to go.” She took the paper and placed it on the seat next to her, rolled the window back up, and threaded the car through the narrow gap between the traffic cones.

As they passed, the statue man's bloodshot eyes met Cassie's one last time. He didn't wave or smile at her. He just nodded once, almost knowingly, and resumed his dancing.

 

“Ramon's looking for you, boss,” Laroda's senior Staff Scientist, Andrew Royce, said from the hallway.

Lyssa clenched her jaw, but didn't look up from the scene of the death and destruction splayed out before her eyes. Tens of millions dead, scarcely a survivor among them. “What? He can't be bothered to stick his head in the lab once in a while?” she growled. “He knows I'm in here. Just because he spends all day in his office doesn't mean—”

“He, um, wants to powwow on the cattle project.”

Lyssa pulled away from the microscope, not liking the sound of that. “Sorry, Drew. I know it's not your fault. I shouldn't snap at you.”

The broad-shouldered older man stepped through the door into the clean room and shrugged. “I know. No biggie.” He gestured at the glass slide Lyssa was extracting from the microscope's stage and asked, “Any luck?”

She shook her head. “The virus is still bricking up the cells. They're breaking open less than twenty-four hours post-infection. Everything's dead.”

“Could be they're making too much protein. We could try dialing back production.”

Lyssa chuffed. “And spend another six weeks screening new viruses?” She slipped the glass slide into the overflowing biohazard waste container at her feet, then gave it a shake to settle the contents. But several slides tumbled out and shattered on the floor.

“I'll ask Sudha to replace the container,” Drew offered.

“Tell her to be careful and make sure it gets properly sealed and incinerated. Last thing we need is another incident like the one they had across the hall last month. Those Ames people are reckless, throwing their hazardous waste into the regular trash. After all the worker accidents they've had to report — not to mention the ones they haven't — it's a wonder Occupational Safety hasn't shut us down already.”

“Probably got some big shot official from there on their payroll,” Drew joked.

Lyssa washed her hands in the small sink in the anteroom, then dried them in the automatic dryer. When the blower shut off, she said, “Every time the inspectors come out here, Ramon and I are the ones who get fined.” She unbuttoned her lab coat and hung it on the hook by the door. “Sometimes I wonder if it was a mistake buying this place. It was definitely a mistake renting those people lab space.”

“But they do pay their rent on time,” Drew reminded her. Then, upon seeing the dark look Lyssa gave him, he held up his hands in a defensive gesture. “Hey, not making excuses, just repeating what the boss always says.”

The look turned even more sour. “Well, don't.”

She shut the door to the lab behind them and headed down the hall toward her office with Andrew trailing behind. A middle-aged man, he was still fairly attractive for his age, tall and broad-shouldered with a deep voice. He was also a study in contrasts: rugged in appearance, though pale of skin; muscular, yet not an exerciser. Intense-looking while completely understated. She couldn't recall a single time he'd been riled up.

She had assumed during his interview nearly two years ago that he spent a lot of time outdoors, perhaps slathered in sun block, since he was so pale. He had denied it. “Yeah, I'm not really into all that nature type stuff. I prefer spending time at the bench rather than the beach.”

She'd secretly not believed him back then, even had reason to wonder about his motives for employment. A seasoned scientist with excellent credentials, his interest in taking the research position seemed suspect, especially considering the low pay being offered and the lab's remote location.