The Bleeding Crowd (5 page)

“What?” He frowned.

“Your heart rate seems higher than it should
be. I know you haven’t been exercising, and you don’t seem sick, so
it would generally mean stress.”

“Not especially.”

She hummed, moving her hands to either side
of his neck. “Any tenderness?”

“No.”

“You tensed.”

“Well, it’s my general reaction when people
go for my neck.”

“Say ‘ah’.”

He did, watching as she wrote something down.
“Something wrong?”

“Little redness at the back of the throat.
Doesn’t seem to be anything important, but it might be the start of
a cold.”

“They tested me before I came here. I’m not
sick.”

“Not yet I know and maybe not at all. Your
immune system’s doing what it should since your glands are slightly
swollen. That’s the problem with relying on blood tests. The body
tells you a lot more than tests do in my opinion. In any case,
you’re the picture of health. The fact that your body is fighting
off whatever’s in there is a good thing. It means you don’t have
any autoimmune diseases, you know, AIDS, Behçet’s—”

“You know I don’t have AIDS.” He showed her
his wrist.

Dahlia glanced at it with a frown. “You
wouldn’t have been burned if you had had AIDS?”

“No.” He rubbed his wrist self-consciously.
“I would have a medical tattoo. Any communicable disease makes you
ineligible for the lottery. So they mark you or you’re
removed.”

“Removed?”

“Quarantine, I suppose they call it,” Ben
said. “They’re moved to some place they can’t spread the disease
and we never see them again.”

“Well, quarantines are good,” Dahlia said.
“You don’t all want to get sick.”

“You gas diseased livestock, after all,
before they can infect the entire herd.”

Dahlia frowned. “I don’t think anyone is
‘gassed’.”

He shrugged.

She looked at his wrist. “So, no tattoo means
an overall clean bill of health. At least for chronic and genetic
diseases.”

He nodded.

She pulled his shirt up to place her
stethoscope on his chest.

“Cold,” he hissed.

“Sorry.” She listened for a second. “Deep
breath.”

He did as he was told.

She nodded, moving the head around to his
back. “Again.”

He repeated the drawn out breathing.

“Perfectly healthy as far as I can tell.” She
pulled back at last. “Any sight problems? Color blindness?
Nearsightedness? Farsightedness?”

“I see colors,” he said. “Don’t know what the
rest are.”

“Do you have problems seeing far away or up
close?”

He shook his head. “Do you have problems
seeing?”

“I did once,” she said. “I had it corrected
though.”

“Can’t say I have any problems.”

She nodded and put her things back in her
bag. She turned around, an uncomfortable silence falling between
them.

Dahlia sucked on her teeth, the sound too
loud in the quiet room. “Well, you’re very good at conversation you
know—for a man.”

“I do handle consecutive thoughts well.”

“I didn’t mean it as a slight,” she
apologized.

Silence fell again.

She shifted, feeling awkward. “Would you like
me to send you home?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re asking me?”

“Would you prefer for me to act unilaterally?
I mean they say men can’t make decisions, but I thought I’d offer
in case you wanted—”

“No.” He held up a hand. “It’s just, last
night it seemed like you couldn’t wait to be rid of me.”

“That’s because I’m less than in favor of
institutionalized mating. I don’t need the government telling me
when to have sex.”

“Do you not like...? Well, I’m going to
assume you’re a virgin since you just turned twenty, but—”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” she
insisted. “I’ve made it this far in life without men, I think I
could continue to do so. I don’t especially have any aspirations
towards motherhood, and I probably never will in all honesty. So
overall, since I don’t want to breed and I don’t want to have sex
with you, you’re basically, I don’t know, a pet? I can’t speak for
everyone else, but I don’t feel the need to keep humans as
pets.”

“A pet,” he said, considering. “That’s a new
one.”

“I’m sorry, that wasn’t meant to be
disparaging. I just don’t know what else I’d call this sort of
arrangement.”

He shrugged.

Dahlia sighed. “So would you like me to send
you back or not?”

“With my other option being sleeping on the
floor?”

She said nothing.

“Well, I have a bed back at camp so I think
I’d prefer that set up if I have a choice.”

Dahlia nodded, moving to her desk. She sat in
the chair and felt under the edge of the wood desk for a switch. A
space on the wall behind the desk glowed.

“There are screens everywhere, aren’t there?”
Ben studied it.

“Pretty much,” Dahlia said, hitting a button
and the screen changed. She looked at him. “How far away is the
camp?”

“I don’t know in miles—sorry, kilometers—but
they drive us here and it takes probably twenty, thirty
minutes.”

“Well, it’s only 18:00. You should be home
before dark. Or not too long after, depending...” She paused. “Have
you eaten anything today?”

“You had some toast and stuff on a plate
earlier,” he said.

“You ate my leftovers?” Dahlia frowned and
didn’t wait for an answer. “You must be starving.”

“I’ve gone longer with less.” He
shrugged.

She looked him over. “You don’t look
malnourished.”

“I’m not,” he said. “People have forgotten to
feed me before. It’s not all the time.”

“I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t think of it.
Then again, I suppose you can’t exactly leave to get something or
call for food for that matter.”

He shrugged.

She moved to the pad on the wall. “I’ll have
something delivered for dinner before you go.”

“You don’t have to,” he said.

“It’s okay. I need dinner anyway. I don’t
have a whole lot to eat here.”

Ben just nodded.

“If I’m ever scatterbrained again...” She
opened the storage space in her headboard. “I tend to have some
food in here. Feel free to help yourself if there’s nothing else
around.”

“What?” He frowned.

“Well, I figure I’m stuck with you for at
least three weeks. I’ll have to call you back here at some point to
avoid questions. There’s food in here for when you’re around.” She
crossed her arms at the lack of understanding on his face. “You
don’t need me to put it in a dish with your name on it, do you? I
figure since you have opposable thumbs and all you’d be capable
of—”

“Thanks,” he interjected.

She nodded.

They stared at each other.

“So...” she started.

“You’re really very pretty,” he said. “You
know, when you aren’t scowling.”

“Thank you.” She frowned, unsettled. “I like
to think that I’m not completely unfortunate looking.”

“Well, I can’t say I have extensive knowledge
of women’s features, but from what I’ve seen I’d say you’re
definitely above average. Pretty.”

“Well, we try to make everything
aesthetically pleasing, ourselves included.” Dahlia shrugged. “If
you’ve been chosen multiple times, you’re obviously not
hideous.”

“Or I’m just the least hideous of the groups
I’m in.” He smiled.

She considered that. “It’s a little
degrading, isn’t it? Being paraded up and down so people can judge
you on your appearance?”

“I’m not sure you care about degrading us,”
he said. “You collective, not you personally.”

She nodded slowly. “I would hate standing
there, being judged like that. It would probably be a little ego
busting too.”

“Well, I don’t think you’d have to worry
about not being picked on at least every once in a while. Everyone
has different tastes, but—”

“You don’t get to choose,” Dahlia said.
“You’re just handed over to whoever wants you.”

“We get used to it.” Ben shrugged, jaw tight
but otherwise stoic.

“Is... is it hard to have sex with someone
you aren’t attracted to?”

“Well.” He considered. “I haven’t been
unfortunate enough to get chosen by someone I found repulsive. Even
if they aren’t the most attractive of people, you get by.”

She nodded. “I feel like there should be a
study done. There’s got to be something that would make this whole
system function better.”

Ben studied her for a long moment. “So
conduct a study.”

“That’s really more a job for a sociologist,
a political scientist maybe, not a physician.”

He shrugged.

“You do that a lot.”

Ben frowned. “Do what?”

“Shrug like that,” she said. “Do you simply
have no opinion, or do you have an opinion and just not want to
share it?”

He smiled. “Maybe a little of both.”

“Probably smart,” she continued, almost to
herself. “‘Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to
open your mouth and remove all doubt.’”

“Abraham Lincoln,” Ben said.

Dahlia frowned. “Who?”

“Abraham Lincoln,” Ben repeated. “That’s his
quote.”

“Never heard of him. It’s in Patience’s
Book of Quotes
.”

“Oh, right.” Ben rolled his eyes “Your great
leader. Well, Lincoln’s older, so she took that from him. Though,
speaking of ages, how old is grand ole Patience supposed to be now.
350? 375? I would have thought someone would have looked into her
secret of living almost four times the normal lifespan of a woman,
but then again, she’s really sort of figure-head, so I suppose it
really doesn’t matter.”

A knock on the door to the hall inside the
villa saved Dahlia from having to respond.

“Food,” she said in a crisp voice. “You can
have a seat. I generally eat on my bed when I’m here anyway.”

Chapter Three

Dahlia studied a sample under the microscope,
didn’t bother to look up. “Yes?”

“You aren’t leaving for lunch?” Cassandra
stood in the doorway.

“I’m behind.” Dahlia sighed, pushing back
from the desk at last. “There’s some sort of allergic reaction
occurring, but I can’t tell how serious it is from this sample. I
don’t want to send it to trial if it’s going to send someone into
anaphylactic shock. Want to look?”

Cassandra shrugged, moving into the room.
“I’m not sure I’m qualified.”

Dahlia smiled. “Well, you could at least tell
me it’s not cancer.”

Her friend sent her a dark look before
bending to look at the microscope. “It doesn’t look like too bad a
reaction. Has that happened on all your samples?”

“Ten percent,” Dahlia said. “Significant
enough not to dismiss, not common enough to warrant stopping the
trial.”

“So why are you worried?”

“It’s nice to know how dangerous something is
before testing it.”

Cassandra nodded. “Are you off this
weekend?”

“I have a couple clinic hours to finish up
Friday night. Other than that, they’ve basically relieved me from
OR duty.”

“Lucky.”

“Means they think I’m better at theory than
application, I think.” Dahlia smiled.

“I’d rather be in your position. I’m just
stuck messing with people’s psyches and doing clinic hours. Like
I’m a GP with some counseling skills.”

“Should have picked a better specialization.”
Dahlia slipped the slide into its holder.

Cassandra rolled her eyes, moving to another
stool in the room. “Heard you were late coming in today.”

“Indeed I was,” Dahlia admitted.

“Finally have a good night?”

“If you mean a good night of sleep, yes, yes
I did.”

“Oh, Lia.” Cassandra frowned at her.

“Can we please go one day without talking
about this, Cass?”

“You really should try it at least once.”

“I know we used to talk about something
before we turned twenty.” Dahlia rolled her eyes.

“We mostly gossiped about the other girls
then.”

“Come on. We discussed some philosophy, world
events...”

“Yeah.” Cassandra nodded with a grin.
“Claire’s problem with Mackenzie was so much more interesting than
those most of the time.”

“True.” Dahlia smiled, but the smile faded
quickly as her eyebrows furrowed. “Have we seen Mackenzie
lately?”

“I think she’s on maternity leave,” Cassandra
said.

“Ah, she’s procreating.”

Cassandra nodded. “You can check it out in
the pedigree room. I think she’s due any day now. They’d likely
have it up there by now. If it’s a girl, anyway.”

“I’m sure she’ll let us know when she
returns. If she doesn’t, it was a boy.”

Cassandra didn’t argue.

* * * *

The authorities had built the camp in the
middle of nowhere. Well, as close to the middle of nowhere as they
could make it without sacrificing ease of transportation too much.
Ben didn’t know what the natural landscape around the camps had
once been, but it appeared they had carved out a space in the
middle of a forest. Or maybe they had planted a forest around the
camp so they blocked the view of the tall concrete walls until you
were practically on top of them. It may have been to hinder escape
efforts or that the stark grey walls weren’t aesthetically pleasing
enough to be seen by the “new society.” It might insult the
artistic sensibilities of women after all, but decoration would be
wasted on a group of heathen men. They, of course, would be happy
just to have shelter from the elements.

The new government had built all the camps in
haste right after the Dumas murder—or so their verbal history told
them. They first filled them with the men in power, men who would
fight the then insurgents. Once that was done, they opened more
camps for the rest of the men and filled them until no one realized
the difference. Until no one realized men had ever lived anywhere
else.

The brilliantly orchestrated takeover by a
militant group claiming to support universal peace used the most
non-militant, docile woman as a figurehead for their cause. It had
been simple enough for her to calm everyone and appear the victim
when anyone tried to question the process. Nobody seemed to notice
the change until enough people “disappeared” to make resistance
futile.