The Twelve (Book Two of The Passage Trilogy): A Novel (63 page)

It was Vale.

Sara’s heart jolted with adrenaline. She couldn’t move; she couldn’t breathe. It would all be over before it had even begun. Her orders were clear: she couldn’t be taken alive. Nina had spared nothing in describing exactly what the redeyes would do to her.
It will be like nothing you’ve
ever experienced. You’ll beg them to kill you. You can’t hesitate
. What could she use? Should she just run and pray they’d shoot her?

“Are you feeling all right, miss?”

Vale was looking at her expectantly, extending a hand to receive her pass.

“What did you say?”

“Are … you … feeling … all right?”

She felt as if she’d been yanked from the edge of a cliff. She fumbled for the correct response. “I’m just a little nervous.”

If Vale was surprised to see her, his face did not betray it. Vale was simply a better actor than she was. All those years Sara had known him, and she’d never detected a thing.

“The Dome can be a little overwhelming the first time you see it. You must be the new girl, Dani. Is that correct?”

She nodded. Dani, that was her name now. Not Sara.

“Display your tag, please.”

She drew up her sleeve and extended her arm. Eustace, using an insider in the records department, had arranged to have Sara’s number assigned to her new, fictitious identity. Vale made a small show of checking it against his paperwork.

“It seems you’re to report to Deputy Director Wilkes.” He gestured for another col to take his place at the desk. “Come with me.”

Sara didn’t know the name. But a deputy director—he had to be a member of the senior staff. Vale escorted her down a short hallway to an elevator with reflective metal doors. They stood in silence, both looking forward, as they waited for the car.

“Step inside, please.”

Entering behind her, Vale pushed the button for the sixth floor. The car began its upward climb. Still he wasn’t looking at her. She wondered if he was going to say anything. Then, as they passed the fourth floor, he reached toward the panel again and flipped a switch. The car abruptly halted.

“We only have a second,” Vale said. “You’ve been assigned to the woman, Lila. This is better than anything we could have hoped for.”

“Who’s Lila?”

“She’s the one who controls the virals. A major target. She’s under heavy guard and almost never leaves her rooms.”

Sara’s mind raced to encode every word he said. “What am I supposed to do?”

“For now, just watch her. Try to win her trust. You and I won’t have
any more direct contact. Any messages will go through the serving girl who brings you your meals. If the spoon on your tray is upside down, there’s a note under your plate. Return any messages the same way, but only do this in an emergency. Got that?”

Sara nodded.

“I always liked you, Sara. I’d like to think I did what I could to protect you. But none of that matters now. If the redeyes figure out who you are, I won’t be able to help you.” He slid his fingers under his waistband and withdrew a small square of metal foil and pressed it into her hand. “Always keep this hidden on your person. There’s a piece of blotter paper inside. It’s soaked in the same compound Nina used to knock you out but at a much higher concentration. Put it under your tongue. It won’t take more than a couple of seconds. Believe me, it’s better than going to the basement.”

Sara slid the envelope into the pocket of her trousers. Death was with her now. She hoped she’d have the nerve if the time came.

Vale’s hand was on the switch. “Ready?”

With a lurch the car resumed its upward course, then decelerated as they approached their destination. Vale, snapping back into character, placed his hand on her arm, gripping her just above the elbow. The doors slid open to reveal a col, heavyset with dark teeth, glaring at them with his hands on his hips.

“What the hell is going on with this elevator?” Then, locating Sara with his eyes: “What’s she doing up here?”

“New attendant. I’m taking her to Wilkes.”

The col examined her up and down. His eyebrows wagged suggestively. “Pity. She’s a nice one.”

Vale led her down a hall lined with heavy wooden doors. Stationed at eye level beside each was a brass plate bearing a name and title, some of which Sara recalled from broadsheets posted in the flatlands: “Aidan Hoppel, Minister of Propaganda,” “Clay Anderson, Minister of Public Works,” “Daryl Chee, Minister of Material Resource Recovery,” “Vikram Suresh, Minister of Public Health.” They came to the final door: “Frederick Wilkes, Chief of Staff and Deputy Director of the Homeland.”

“Come.”

The office’s occupant was bent forward over a stack of papers on his desk, scribbling with a fountain pen. A muted winter light filtered through the draped windows behind him. A moment passed; then he looked up.

“Dani, is it?”

Sara nodded.

The redeye shifted his gaze to Vale. “Wait outside, please.”

The door clicked shut. Wilkes rocked back in his chair. An air of weariness radiated from him. He pulled a sheet of paper from the pile and looked it over.

“The dairy barns. That was where you worked?”

“Yes, Deputy Director.”

“And you have no immediate family.”

“No, Deputy Director.”

Wilkes returned his attention to the page on his desktop. “Well, it seems this is your lucky day. You’re to be Lila’s companion. Does the name mean anything to you?”

Sara meekly shook her head.

“Heard rumors, perhaps? We have no illusions that security isn’t always what it could be. You can tell me if you have.”

With monumental effort, she forced herself to look him in the eye. “No, I haven’t heard anything.”

Wilkes let a moment pass before continuing. “Well. Suffice it to say that Lila is one of a kind. The job is pretty straightforward. Basically, do whatever she asks. You will find she can be—how do I put this? Unpredictable. Some of the things she asks of you will seem odd. Think you’re up to this?”

She returned a crisp nod. “Yes, sir.”

“The one thing you must do is get her to eat. This takes some coaxing. She can be extremely stubborn.”

“You can count on me, Deputy Director.”

He leaned back in his chair again, folding his hands in his lap. “You will find life in the Dome much more comfortable than the flatland. Three square meals a day. Hot water for bathing. Very little will be asked of you other than the duties I’ve described. If you do a good job, there’s no reason you can’t enjoy our largesse for years to come. One last matter. How are you with children?”

“Children, sir?”

“Yes. Do you like them? Get on with them? Personally, I find them rather trying.”

Sara felt a familiar pang. “Yes, Deputy Director. I like them fine.”

She waited for further explanation from Wilkes, but none was evidently forthcoming. He inspected her for another few seconds from across his desk, then picked up the telephone.

“Tell them we’re on the way.”

*  *  *

Roughly an hour later, Sara found herself garbed in an attendant’s robe, standing at the threshold of a room so sumptuously decorated that its volume of detail was difficult to absorb. Heavy drapes were drawn over the windows; the only sources of light were several large silver candelabras positioned around the room. Gradually the scene came into focus. The sheer volume of furniture and bric-a-brac made it seem less like a place where someone lived than a storage room of miscellaneous objects. A voluminous sofa covered in fat, tasseled pillows, as well as a pair of equally overstuffed chairs, stood to one side, facing a low square table of polished wood, its surface piled with books. More pillows of various colors were scattered on the floor, which was dressed by an ornately patterned rug. The walls were covered with oil paintings in heavy gilt frames—landscapes, pictures of horses and dogs, as well as a great many portraits of women and their children in curious costumes, the images possessing a disturbing half reality. One in particular caught Sara’s attention: a woman in a blue dress and an orange hat, sitting in a garden beside a little girl. She moved toward it to have a closer look. A small plaque at the bottom of the frame read, “Pierre-Auguste Renoir,
On the Terrace
, 1881.”

“Well, there you are. It’s about time they sent someone.”

Sara pivoted. A woman, arms folded over her chest, was standing in the bedroom doorway. She was both more and less than the image Sara had assembled from the things Vale and Wilkes had said. The person she had envisioned was at the very least a substantial presence, but the figure before her appeared quite frail. She was perhaps as old as sixty. Deep fissures lined her face, cutting borders between its various regions; crescents of drooping skin hung like hammocks beneath her watery eyes. Her lips were so pale they were practically nonexistent, like ghost lips. She was wearing a shimmering robe of some thin, shiny fabric, a thick towel encircling her head like a turban.

“¿Hablas inglés?”

Sara stared dumbly, unable to formulate a reply to this incomprehensible question.

“Do … you … speak … English?”

“Yes,” Sara stated. “I speak English.”

The woman gave a little start. “Oh. So you do. I have to say, that’s a surprise. How many times have I asked the service to send somebody who spoke even a little English? I don’t even want to tell you.” She made a distracted gesture with her hands. “I’m sorry, your name again?”

Never mind that she hadn’t told her to begin with. “It’s Dani.”

“Dani,” the woman repeated. “Where are you from, exactly?”

The most general answer seemed the wisest. “I’m from here.”

“Of course you’re from
here
. I meant
originally
. Your tribe. Your people. Your clan.” Another agitated flutter of her hands. “You know. Your
familia
.”

With each exchange, Sara felt herself being pulled deeper into the quicksand of the woman’s oddness. Yet something about her was almost endearing. She seemed quite helpless, a twittering bird in a cage.

“California, actually.”

“Ah. Now we’re getting somewhere.” A pause; then, with a dawning look: “Oh,
I
see. You’re working your way through school. Why didn’t you say so?”

“Ma’am?”

“Please,” she chirped, “call me Lila. And don’t be so modest. It’s an admirable thing you’re doing. A great show of character. Of course, that doesn’t mean I’ll be paying you more than the other girls. I made that clear with the service. Fourteen an hour, take it or leave it.”

Fourteen what? Sara wondered. “Fourteen is fine.”

“And, of course, the Social Security. We’ll be paying that, and filing the 1099. David is very particular about these things. He’s what you’d call a rule follower. A big ol’ stick in the mud. No health insurance, I’m afraid, but I’m sure you get that through your school.” She beamed encouragingly. “So, are we good?”

Sara nodded, completely dumbfounded.

“Excellent. I have to say, Dani,” the woman, Lila, continued, gliding into the room, “you’ve come just in the nick of time. Not a moment too soon, in fact.” She had taken a box of matches from her robe and was lighting a large candelabra near her dressing table. “Why don’t you just put that over there?”

She was referring to the tray Wilkes had given her. On it was a metal flask and cup. Sara placed the tray on the table the woman had indicated, adjacent to an ornately carved wardrobe draped with scarves. Lila had positioned herself in front of a standing mirror and was turning her shoulders this way and that, examining her reflection.

“So what do you think?”

“I’m sorry?”

She placed one hand on her stomach and pressed inward as she filled her chest with air. “This awful diet. I don’t think I’ve ever been so famished in my life. But it really does seem to be doing the trick. What would you say, Dani? Another five pounds? You can be honest.”

Standing in profile, the woman was just skin and bones. “You look fine to me,” she said gently. “I wouldn’t lose any more.”

“Really? Because when I look in this mirror what I’m thinking is, who is this blimp? This zeppelin?
Oh God, the humanity
. That’s what I’m thinking.”

Sara remembered Wilkes’s orders. “I think you’re supposed to eat, actually.”

“So I’m told. Believe me, I’ve heard
that
before.” She placed her hands on her hips, scrunched up her face, and dropped her voice an octave. “Lila, you’re too skinny. Lila, you’ve got to put some meat on those bones. Lila this, Lila that. Blah, blah, blah.” Then, her eyes widening with sudden panic: “Oh my goodness, what time is it?”

“I guess it’s … about noon?”

“Oh my goodness!” The woman began to dart around the room, snatching up various belongings and putting them down again in a manner that seemed arbitrary. “Don’t just stand there,” she implored, grabbing a pile of books and shoving them into the bookcase.

“What would you like me to do?”

“Just … I don’t know.
Anything
. Here—” She filled Sara’s hands with pillows. “Put these over there. On the whooziwhatzis.”

“Um, you mean the sofa?”

“Of course I mean the sofa!”

And just like that, a light seemed to switch on in the woman’s face. A wondrous, happy, shining light. She was staring over Sara’s shoulder, toward the door.

“Sweetheart!”

She dropped to a crouch as a young child, a girl in a plain smock, blond ringlets bouncing, dashed past Sara into the woman’s outstretched arms. “My angel! My sweet, sweet girl!”

The child, who was holding a sheet of colored paper, pointed at the woman’s turbaned head. “Did you take a bath, Mummy?”

“Why, yes! You know how Mummy likes her baths. What a clever little girl you are! So, tell me,” she continued, “how were your lessons? Did Jenny read to you?”

“We read
Peter Rabbit
.”

“Wonderful!” the woman beamed. “Was it funny? Did you like it? I’m sure I’ve told you how much I adored him when I was your age.” She turned her attention to the paper. “And what do we have here?”

The little girl held it up. “It’s a picture.”

“Is that me? Is it a picture of the two of us?”