Recoil (14 page)

“No. I’m implying that you’re a hypocrite. What do you think
happens to the information
intel
figures out? You
think your data and analysis won’t feed directly into my dirty work? You think
where we go and what we target won’t be a direct result of your intelligence
work?”

Quinn paused, scrubbed a hand across his mouth and shook his head
ruefully.

“Ah, you’ve got me there, Blue.”

“Don’t call me Blue.”

“How about I don’t call you at all?”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

He spun on his heel and stalked off. I was left alone, in the
dusty silence under the stairs, clutching my crumpled certificate against my
hog’s tooth.

Chapter 16

Deployed

No Irish pirate slouched up against the cafeteria door waiting
for me the next morning. I grabbed a tray and joined the food line, even though
I wasn’t hungry — I’d been sucking up a steady diet of tears served with a side
of anger and self-pity sauce since the night before, and my stomach felt heavy
from all the angst. I grabbed an apple and a cup of coffee and then noticed as
I passed by the rack that always held the baked goods that there was exactly
one chocolate muffin left. I stared at it bleakly. If Quinn had been with me,
we’d have shared it, maybe even fed each other. Or he would have insisted I
have it. I walked away from the racks to the check-out register.

“It’s too low on calories, honey,” said the operator who scanned
my food. “According to the system, you’re scheduled for active duty today, so
you’ll need to get more, preferably something with protein.”

I took my tray and headed back against the stream of specialists
headed for checkout, and nearly collided with Quinn. His plate was laden with
eggs, bacon and toast. And the chocolate muffin. Obviously,
his
appetite was unaffected by our bust-up. He stared down at my apple and coffee,
flicked his glance to my single earring, then met my eyes with his own
flint-gray gaze.

“What? No appetite for killing today?”

I wanted to tell him where to get off. I wanted to cry. I wanted
him to hug me. But I just stood there stupidly staring down at his checkerboard
sneakers and remembering the day I’d first seen them. He moved off, and the
throng of diners parted around me like I was a rock in a river. My face went
cold, then hot. I dipped my head and snagged a protein power bar from a shelf
before heading back to the checkout.

“Still not enough, dear. You need at least 150 calories more.”

What the hell?

I spun on my heel and held my tray out to the nearest server.

“What would you —”

“150 calories of anything.”

Back at checkout, the operator finally nodded approval — at the
two hard-boiled eggs on my plate. Irish oysters. Now my eyes were burning as
well as my face.

I had to pass Quinn again on my way to the table where my unit
was gathered. He was sitting with the blues, though they all wore civilian
clothing today, unlike our unit, who were all still in the black jumpsuits.
Sofia looked up as I passed. I didn’t think I imagined the deep satisfaction in
her henna-circled eyes. Quinn ignored me.

I dumped my tray on the metal table, slumped onto the edge of the
attached bench beside
Leya
, and contemplated my apple
and eggs unenthusiastically.

“Hey, girl, you faded on a great party last night.”

“Yeah.”

“There
was
beer!” said Mitch.

“And” —
Leya
looked over at Quinn’s
table — “you’re not sitting with your other half.”

“No.”

“Relationship status update?”

“It’s complicated,” I muttered. “No, scratch that. It’s actually
very simple — he dumped me.”

Bruce, who was sitting at the far end of the bench on the other
side of the table, perked up at this.

“Blue —”

“Not a word, Bruce,” I said, holding up a hand as if to stop the
traffic of his speech. If I was being rude, then too bad.

“But I —”

“Zip it!” I must have looked or sounded fierce, because he
actually closed his lips. Though he tracked the rest of the conversation
avidly.

“No way did he dump you! No
way
! That boy loves you,” said
Leya
.

“Nope. Apparently he ‘doesn’t even know me’.” I sketched
quotation marks around his words as I spoke them.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not sure I understand it myself. He got it in his head that
I was a code-breaker. He’s intel.”

“I know,” said
Leya
.

“You did?”

“Well, I saw the badges on the blues — all, like, Sherlock
Holmes. And did you know the convicts are spooks?”

“The oranges?” said Mitch.

“Yeah, they’re spies, snoops and info-collectors. They work closely
with intel.”

“Greens?” asked Cameron.

“Programmers. I think they get to work on The Game eventually.”

Apparently unable to hold back any longer, Bruce asked, “But what
about the effing leprechaun?” He nodded his head in the direction of Quinn.

“Yeah,” said
Leya
. “What’s not being a
code-breaker got to do with your relationship?”

“When he found out I was a sniper, he completely freaked out.”

“Did he now? I wonder why?”

“He’s some kind of major animal-loving pacifist and takes
exception to the fact that I’ll be shooting live rats, and maybe other animals.
Don’t know what he thinks we should do with them, since they’re infected. Maybe
put them in little hospital beds with
blankies
tucked
around their furry little necks,” I said bitterly.

Bruce laughed at that.

“He sounds crazy,” said
Leya
, giving my
hand a squeeze. Her sympathy soothed my wounded ego and fed my anger.

“He thinks
I’m
crazy — he called me a killer!”

“Huh,” said Cameron who was sitting, as usual, directly opposite
Leya
.

“He did not!” said
Leya
.

“Said I was being trained to take innocent lives! I mean,
honestly.”

“That boy needs to shut up. And stop being mean to you.”
Leya
turned around in her seat and gave Quinn’s back a
slit-eyed look.

“Do you want me to sort him out, Blue? Open up a can of
whoopass
and teach him some manners? Just say the word.”
Bruce cracked his knuckles.

“No.”

“Moral of the story is don’t have feelings for someone outside
your unit,” said Mitch.

“True story, bro,” said Bruce.

“Moral of the story is don’t have feelings for anyone, ever —
especially in this line of work,” muttered
Leya
.
“Come on, eat your food, we need to go get our assignments.”

Nothing would have gotten me to eat the eggs, but I forced myself
to eat the apple and drink the now-cold coffee, and shoved the power bar into a
pocket for later. Then we all trooped over to
Sarge’s
office.

On the way, I ducked into the bathroom to remove Quinn’s earring
— I couldn’t wear it now that we’d split. Problem was, I didn’t know what to do
with it. I should give it back to him, I supposed, but I dreaded another
face-to-face confrontation. I could fling it in the trashcan or flush it down
the toilet. But, dumb as it might be, I wanted to keep it, and keep it close to
me. I tucked it into my chest pocket but then, worried that it might get lost,
clasped it instead around the left strap of my bra, where it lay against my
skin. Perfect — I could feel it, and no one else could see it. Then I hurried
off to catch up with the others.

“Well, look at my sweet little piglets all grown up into lean,
mean, fighting-machine hogs. Ready to get out and get shooting?” said
Sarge
as the six of us crammed around his desk. We all
nodded.

Bruce, who as usual had managed to wedge himself into the spot
next to me, said, “Sir, yes sir!”

“As of now, you are all on active assignment.”

With all of us squashed together, Bruce didn’t have enough room
to do a fist-pump or a high-five, but I could feel his knees give a celebratory
dip beside me.

“Today, we’re going outside the wire. We’ve had reports of a nest
of rats in Zone 21, and a possible infected cat. Blue and Bruce will be on
point.”

“Yes!” Bruce whispered.

I held myself completely still while
Sarge’s
hard gaze pinned me, examining me for any sign of weakness at the prospect of
killing rats. And a cat. After an age, he moved his glance to the others, and I
could breathe again.

“Tae-Hyun, you’ll be spotting for Blue. Mitch, you’ll be spotter
for Bruce. You’re to proceed now to the armory, where Juan will issue you with
your rifles,
sidearms
, ammo and optics. I’ve told him
to zero the scopes to 100 meters for you. And when you get back, first stop is
the armory again to return your weapons to lockup. And that is how it will
always work, hog-people! Cameron and
Leya
— I want
you to ride along and observe for today and also scope the field for civilians.
Fiona will meet you in fifteen minutes in transport bay C. Now haul ass, you
lot!”

“Um,
Sarge
? Should we wear gloves and
masks?” I asked.

He stared at me for a long moment, tracing a finger over his
mustache. “That’s entirely up to you, princess. Think you can shoot a rat
before it gets close enough to spit in your face?”

I had been thinking about more general contamination, touching
the transport or objects in the outside world, but
Sarge
didn’t look like he would have much patience for such concerns, so I simply
nodded.

The armory was located at the rear of the compound, beyond the
decon
unit and doors which separated the main building from
transport bay C. In the interests of keeping the nature of our work secret, I
guess, we were the only unit who used either the armory or that exit. The only
camera in the area pointed out towards the bay where our vehicles collected and
deposited us.

Twenty minutes later, we headed out of the compound, and no one
in the black van wore either gloves or masks. Bruce cradled his rifle in his
arms like a baby. I stood mine upright between my knees where I sat, swaying,
as we hurtled through the mostly empty streets. I stared out of the tinted
windows. It was great to see something new and different.

Everyone peered out as we passed by a line of about twenty
protestors, mostly women dressed in red PPE suits stationed outside an old
abortion clinic. They had all been closed under the official Moratorium on
Voluntary Population Reduction Act passed two years into the plague. The
protestors were holding up cardboard signs, and I was able to read a few of the
messages as we whizzed past:
Our bodies, our lives, our right to decide!
Stop the war on our rights! Keep your laws off my body! Support Freedom, support
Choice!

“Effing civil lib traitors!” said Bruce.

What would Quinn have thought? Probably that when the government
said it wanted to “save lives and ensure all human beings were protected by our
laws,” it meant fetuses, rather than the illegal immigrants who still tried to
slip over the border into the US, despite the colossal wall that now ran the
length of our border with Mexico.

Leya
evicted Bruce from his seat beside
me and took his place.

“Hey, girl, are you okay?” she asked softly.

I pulled a face and shrugged.

“Listen, don’t worry about Quinn. He’s overreacting, and he’ll
soon realize it. He won’t want to lose you. You’re some kind of special, you
know that? Beautiful on the inside and the out. He’ll come around.”

“You think?” I wanted to believe her, but she hadn’t seen Quinn’s
face.

“I do. And if he doesn’t, it’s his loss. And maybe,” she said,
winking at me, “Bruce’s gain?”

That tugged a laugh from me. “No way!” I whispered.

“Now, we still have some time left in our session. Tell Dr. Freud
what else is bothering you.”

“Ah,” I sighed, “the usual.”

“Killing critters?”

I nodded.

“Worried you’ll lose your nerve today and shoot like a blind
Democrat?”

“Right again.”

“And that
Sarge
will boot you out?”

“Three for three.”

“Listen, sweetie, that is so not going to happen. I’ve seen you
under pressure. And you’re cooler and calmer than anyone I’ve ever known.
You’re a professional sniper, and when the time comes to take the shot, you’ll
take it like a true marksman. Besides, the critters you’ll be shooting at today
are infected. They’re plague-spreaders — you
know
they need to be put down.”

“That’s true,” I said. I was feeling a bit better.

“And if there’s an infected cat, then I’m sorry about that, but
better it dies a quick, painless death at the hand of an expert” — she poked a
gentle finger into my upper arm — “than dying a slow, painful death full of
suffering.”

“You’re right.” She was. I really didn’t need to have any moral
qualms about today’s mission.

“Sugar, I am always right.”

I laughed with her at that, but when I said, “Thank you,
Leya
. You’re a good friend, you know that?” I meant it.

Zone 21 was a pretty area northwest of the city. Middle-class and
upmarket neighborhoods nestled in pockets between the urban forest and the old
strip malls — now mostly boarded up with signs referring shoppers to new,
online addresses. We had spent days practicing in the urban arena, camouflaging
our faces with dark skin-paint and taking cover behind bins and dumpsters and
burnt-out wrecks of cars, but this mission was in the middle of solid suburbia,
and there was no need to hide or wear camouflage. We were all wearing the same
black jumpsuits, with the addition of the badges and neckwear that had offended
Quinn so mightily.

We would need to keep well back from the rats, so we didn’t get
bitten or scare them off with our noise and movement, and we would have to
observe the field before we went hot.
Sarge
had
trained us to scan for potential enemies — I guess that’s what he knew from his
war service years ago — but we would also be scanning for any civilians who
might be endangered by our shooting.

The van pulled into a street which led down from the main road
and into a crescent which looped through the subdivision. A deserted communal
recreation area was located on the north side of the street. Weeds grew up
against the walls of the clubhouse, several of its windows were broken and the
front door hung ajar. Outside, the communal pool was empty except for a sludge
of dead leaves and rainwater in the bottom, and the blue surface of the tennis
court was cracked and bulging in places. Nature was reclaiming the places we
had abandoned.