Plagued: Book 1 Page 2

  “You were hurt on patrol, obviously since you have all your gear. Not badly, I gather?'

  She leaned into her ice pack. “Smacked on the head. I was lucky not to be killed.”

  He sat back, relaxed, obviously waiting for her to ask a question back.

  “Why do you have blood on you?”

  He gave a little bark of laughter.

  “I phrased that badly. Why are you here?”

  “I was in the ER, talking to my Godmother Sydney. Must have brushed up against something or someone.”

  “Your god mom's name is Sydney? Isn't that a guy's name?”

  “She used to be a he and my godfather.” He leaned back on the squeaky, plastic couch, putting both hands up. “I don't judge people's life choices. He, I mean, she, likes Sydney and kept the name.”

  He smiled more broadly. Sky felt the sides of her mouth stretch up of their own accord to match. She sat there grinning at him like an idiot. He cocked his head to one side, waiting for her to continue the conversation.

  “So...you dropped by the ER to chat with your godmother/father? That seems kind of risky. You being AB and all, I mean.:.” She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. It wasn't polite to talk about people's blood types and speculate on their chances of survival in the next outbreak.

  “I needed a transfusion, since you ask. I get them regularly as part of a new treatment program. So, Sydney took care of that. My dad is here.”

  “Is he sick, too?”

  He looked surprised. “What? Oh, I see what you mean. At the hospital and all. No, he's not sick. He's a geneticist. A very accomplished one. He's been asked to lecture and do some teaching here at the University. He did his residency right at this hospital, which is why I have godparents on this side of the Atlantic. And that is another reason I am in and out of this place all the time.” He indicated the hospital with a wave of his hand.

  “I see.”

  “Are your parents alive?”

  She relaxed a little. That was a perfectly normal question.

  “Dad is gone; my mom is fine. She's in the Persian Confederacy, working with the NATO oil cartel in the field there. She's a geological engineer specializing in oil drilling.”

  “Good career choice. Since you're a Negative, odds are both your parents are as well. So he didn't die in the plagues, I assume.”

  “No. PharmCon riots in Silicon Valley. I mean, Pharmacy Conspiracy riots.” He was English; he might not know. “More than ten years ago. He was a lawyer.”

  “For the victims?”

  “No. For the Pharmaceutical company, Bio-Exederm. When the VA stormed the company HQ, he was shot by an execution squad along with the executive directors.”

  “Jeezus.” He put his hand on her arm.“That's rough. I'm sorry. You must hate the Victims Army people.”

  She shook her head, uncomfortably aware of his hand, warm even through her tactical suit. “No. Not really. I was only five going on six. He went away one day and didn't come home. Everybody wants to blame someone. Besides, just because he worked for them didn't mean he believed the Pharms weren't complicit in keeping the virus going in the beginning. You know, focusing on treatment rather than cure. At least that's what my mom told me.”

  “I like the theory they were in league with the old government to create plagues in the laboratory and release them for a New World Order and to create cheap oil.”

  She shrugged and winced as the move scrunched up the sore spot on her head. “Even if they did. It's done now. No take-backs and the New World Order isn't that different than the Old World, is it?”

  “You think so?” He dropped his hand to stare at her as though she'd said something really stupid. “Populations in Africa, the Middle East, Asia decimated. What are there? Ten, twenty million Chinese in China now? Iraq, Iran, and Saudi Arabia transformed to the Persian Confederacy of States, and America and the EU's best friend. That's not suspicious? Nuclear meltdowns in Russia, Japan and France that left thousands of miles of scorched earth. Ghost town after ghost town in America, Canada, England and Western Europe.” He spoke passionately, his hands clenched tightly together.

  “You should keep your voice down.” Sky glanced around the waiting room. The only person near them was asleep with his head back on the couch and his mouth hanging open. “You don't want to be hauled in and fined for sedition.”

  He took several deep breaths, flicking his eyes around the room with her. “Yeah. Sorry.”

  “Besides, there's no going back. Only forward.”

  “That's the party line. Forward, into the future.”

  “Doesn't make it any less true. Nothing is going to bring back the way the world was. The only hope is for a cure.”

  “Not for you. Negatives have a future. Negatives can't get sick. You're the new master race. Rebuilding the world in your image.”

  He was trying not to sound jealous, but Sky was way too familiar with Positives to miss the underlying emotion behind the words. She bit her lip and got busy fiddling with some of the velcro fasteners on the flak vest with her free hand, pulling them open and closed and silently cursing herself for being so thoughtless. What could she say to that? Especially to an AB positive. It was a miracle he'd made it to his teens. This coming winter could be his last. So many had already died in the plagues. Even with the lottery, there just wasn't enough government blood for transfusions.

  The couch creaked as he shifted his long legs and changed the subject. “How long have you been on active patrol?”

  She moaned inwardly. Maybe she shouldn't answer. Maybe she should just get up and move to a different squeaky couch or pound on the Clean Room doors and shout for the Sergeant. It was pretty obvious he hated her for being a Redneck. She stayed where she was, despite the strong smell of the blood. Stayed because he had another scent beneath that bitter metallic taste. Something attractive and elusive that reached out to wrap itself around her senses. Like nothing she had ever encountered. She wanted to lean over and inhale him. That must be what was tying her tongue into knots, making her stumble with nervousness. The heat seeped up from her neck to her cheeks. She realized she was blushing.

  “Are you blushing because you're angry? Perhaps I'm annoying you. Is that question inappropriate in America?”

  “You're not annoying me and no; that question isn't inappropriate,” she hastened to correct him. “Um, let's see. Five, no, six months. Yeah. Six months.”

  “Is it strange?”

  His voice sounded sincere. Like he wanted to know what it was like four nights a week carrying a gun and patrolling her hometown with orders to shoot to kill after curfew.

  “You know,” he pressed. “Chasing the Hemogoblins and shooting people.”

  “They're not people,” she snapped.

  The easy-going expression shifted to something else. Something harder.

  “What I mean is,” she stumbled to a stop. What did she mean? She tried to think. She should tell him they were taught to shoot automatically at targets and dummies. Shoot accurately without question. Follow your C.O.'s orders. Not what she really thought. The shrinks would be on her in a minute if she said she coped by pretending it was a game. A role-playing game like she created in the park with her friends as a child. She'd had weapons and combat training since her twelfth birthday. Back then it was easy just to make it a game of soldiers and spies in her head, and she hadn't stopped.

  Training was mandatory for all Negatives, plus she'd tested well for aggression. Even trainees needed to be prepared to be called for duty at any time. Luckily there hadn't been a full-scale riot on the West Coast since she came of age. Shooting Hemogoblin blood gangsters was one thing. Firing into a crowd of desperate civilians, she wasn't sure she could do that, no matter what the aggression tests said.

  Anyway, he was a civilian. How could he understand the pressures she faced daily? What the government and her blood type gave her no choice to do. Protect and Serve. That was her duty from now until forever.
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  He was waiting for her to say more.

  “Hemogoblins hunt people for their blood,” she explained. “Drain them dry or sell off their captives to illegal blood farms. They leave corpses from rival gangs to taunt us. The bodies are strapped to the trees or telephone poles or wherever. They call them scarecrows. It's horrible. Evil.” She met his eyes, “So, no, killing them on HK patrol is not weird. That's justice and I don't lose any sleep over them.”

  “Have you killed any one else? By mistake?”

  She looked at him, surprised. “That's a weird question.”

  “Hugo!”

  They both started. Neither of them had noticed the man's approach. He laid one hand on the boy's shoulder. “Sorry, I kept you waiting. Let's go.”

  The man had a beautiful, clipped way of speaking. Just like Hugo. He was tall, and his curly gray hair hung over his ears and forehead. Definitely good looking; with classical features: high cheekbones, broad forehead, and cloudy gray-blue eyes. Hugo looked a lot like him, except for the hair.

  “That's okay, Dad.” He stood and turned towards his father. “This is a classmate from Redwood High. She was injured tonight chasing a gang of Hemogoblins. Right near here, in the eucalyptus forest.”

  The man didn't even glance at her. “You're doing a good job soldier. We appreciate it.” With that, he walked to the sliding glass doors leading to the parking lot.

  Hugo smiled. “Nice talking to you at last, Sky. I must be awfully preoccupied not to have noticed you before.”

  She felt her cheeks flush again. Was he flirting with her? What the hell?

  “See you at school.” Hugo took a few steps backward, his eyes flicking from her face to someplace at her feet. “Oh, and I like your dog. He's beautiful. Were you able to get him in because you're Tactical? They usually don't let pets in the hospital. What's his name?”

  “A..Alex,” she stammered.

  “Hugo!” his father called sharply.

  She stared at him, her mouth open.

  Stared while he jogged over to his father and left.

  Stared at the sliding doors until Staff Sergeant McNeil came out and barked her name.

  Hugo couldn't have seen her dog.

  Nobody could except her.

  That's because her dog was dead, a ghost. And only Sky could see him.

  Chapter 3

  Blood Ties

  The motor pool driver let her out in front of the little two-story house on Waverly Road. Aunt Eloise's house. This is where she lived when her mom was away. She was tired, her head ached despite the pain killers from the hospital. There was reading to do for History and English, but all she could think about was Hugo. What he said at the end of their conversation. About seeing her dog.

  Alex, her little Shetland Sheepdog, had been dead over a year.

  The flu did change Rednecks, just as she had told him. Sometimes those changes couldn't be explained by science. Sky's enhanced sense of sight went far beyond just invisible light spectrums. She saw ghosts. Only animals so far. Alex had been with her since the day he died. Not every moment of every day. Often, though. Especially when she was tired or stressed.

  The funny thing was, her aunt saw ghosts, too.

  The little electric sign on the carport roof for 'Eloise Edwards, Psychic Consultant,' clicked off as Sky dragged herself up the front walk. Her aunt must have been working late as well. Peering through the metaphysical fog and paranormal ether for her clients. Her aunt Eloise was a psychic. For animals, not humans. And the psychic pet business was booming.

  People had become very attached to their pets since the plagues. Obsessively so. Dogs and cats were immune to the flu. Unlike parents, children, friends, and family, they did not die off every winter. People became more and more dependent on animals for emotional comfort as the world fell to pieces. Eloise helped clients get in touch with pets that had passed on. She'd been doing it before the plagues. Since the die-off, business had increased exponentially.

  Sky let herself in through the front door. Unlike many homes, they didn't need a curtained alcove to strip out of street clothes – full of possible virus germs – mist themselves down and change into home clothes. Eloise had a unit like that for the annex holding her office. That was mandatory, a city ordinance for all places of business.

  “Hi, sweetie!” Eloise came out from the little hall that led to the other side of the house. An addition she'd had built on for her work. Tricia, her apricot poodle, bounded ahead, dancing around Skylar on her hind feet, begging to be petted. Eloise was wearing a knee-length beige tunic sweater over black leggings and little black loafers. This was her preferred style of dress when exploring the psychic realm with clients.

  Her aunt stopped halfway to the door, giving Sky a searching glance. “What happened? You're hurt. I can tell. Come here,” she stretched out her arms.

  Dropping the heavy black duffle bag on the carpet, Skylar walked over. As a member of the Guard, she was required to keep her weapons at home or school when not on patrol. Every Redneck did the same from sixteen on. Wrapping her arms around her aunt, she let herself relax for the first time all day.

  Aunt Eloise was not a large woman, but she gave big, satisfying hugs.

  She pulled Sky into the living room with Tricia dancing around them. It was an old house updated just before the plagues when Eloise and her husband moved in with their two small boys. Two floors, four bedrooms. The living and dining rooms flowed together in an open plan and a wide counter with seating on one side bordered the roomy eat-in kitchen. Through the kitchen, a laundry room at the back opened onto a side patio and access to the carport. When Eloise added the little office annex for her psychic business, they built a sliding door into the dining room that blended right into the wall when it was closed.

  It was a very lived-in, comfortable house with oversized sofa and side chairs and big, worn Persian carpets over the hardwood floors. Classic, hand-colored bird and flower etchings decorated the walls. Tonight there was a fire in the fireplace. Though the days were warm, evenings got chilly in October. Eloise pushed her down on the deep couch and headed for the kitchen. Tricia was overjoyed to finally reach Sky's cheeks for some serious doggy kissing.

  “I've got a yummy beef stew, lots of veggies,” she said over her shoulder. “Big, soft rolls for dipping. I waited for you.”

  “Aunt Eloise, you didn't have to do that! Look at the time.”

  She peeked around the corner and blew her a kiss. “Meals are better shared. Do you want to change into your old moldies or eat in your uniform?”

  “Gosh, yes! Old moldies for me.”She jumped off the couch. “Back in a flash.”

  'Old moldies' was a code phrase of Eloise and Sky's mom for their most comfortable at-home clothing. For Sky, that meant a pair of thick, fleece, snowflake-patterned pajama bottoms, an old purple t-shirt that said, 'I think you're wonderful,' in block letters on the front, and an oversized fleece navy-blue hoodie. The hoodie made her look fat, but she didn't care. Who would see? Because of the enhanced muscle development, 'willowy' was not a term that described most Redneck girls. She was slim but strong.

  Her bruised temple was giving off sharp little pulses of pain. Washing her face and hands, she pulled off the tight band that kept her hair in the required ponytail, letting it fall loose over her shoulders to hang halfway down her back. That felt good. Her thick, light- brown hair was always a tight fit in her helmet. There was no way she was cutting it short. As a patriot, Sky was prepared to give up a lot for her country, just not her hair.

  She examined her face in the bathroom mirror. A dark stain was already spreading across her skin by the hairline. That was going to make a nasty bruise. Still, nothing some concealer and foundation couldn't fix. Since all Negatives were in Tactical at school, everyone was used to seeing each other in less than mint condition. She'd grab a quick shower before bed. It was great now that water rationing was done and you could bathe any time. Until a couple of years ago, water and power went of
f at ten p.m. The night seemed quiet now without the chug chug of portable diesel generators people used to keep their freezers frosty. She'd fallen asleep to that sound for years.

  Over dinner, sitting at the big walnut maple table with the matching captains chairs, she told her aunt what happened on patrol. Eloise's boys were both grown and out of the house. Graduates of Tactical, as was her aunt back in the day. She knew the realities of HK. Still did. Like every other Negative, she remained a member of the Home Guard Reserve after finishing active duty. Men and women fifty and over took turns on Neighborhood Watch, helping Tactical with patrols after curfew.

  When Sky got to the part about being smashed over the head, Eloise got up, came around the table, and hugged her again.

  Something caught Sky's eye as her aunt sat down.

  “Who was here today?”

  Eloise followed her stare. “Who wasn't? I had at least ten appointments. The last was a woman. She lost a...”

  “Dachshund?” Sky finished.

  “That's exactly right. I gather the spirit didn't go home with her when she left?”

  “Nope. Just ran into the kitchen. Maybe Alex will find it.” Eloise could talk to animal spirits. She couldn't always see them. Which was kind of ironic, since Sky could see but not hear her dog. “Oh, that reminds me.”

  She explained about the boy in the waiting room and how he had seen the spirit of her dead dog.

  “Did he know Alex was just a ghost?”

  She shook her head. “Didn't seem to. He acted like Alex was real.” She motioned for Eloise to keep seated. “I'll clear the table. How is that possible for him, I mean, to see that?”

  Her aunt laughed. “You do realize ghosts and the people who communicate with them have been around a lot longer than the plagues. Just look at me!”

  Sky's enhancement forced her to see through so many spectrums of light. Too many. Scales even animals couldn't register, like the after image of sound waves. Her friends had called her 'Bat girl' when that one developed. Even though they were only joking, Sky just lost it once when she was twelve and started crying. They never called her that again because they really were her friends.