Horizon

Her dad was such an idiot. Acting like it was all some sort of game, the way he went out driving around, looking for gas, blowing up cars. And he had the nerve to accuse her of being irresponsible.

Her irritation was back in a flash. “Well, I guess you can tell him I’m fine,” she said, pushing past Valerie, taking the incline nimbly. Sucks to be old, she resisted saying, knowing Valerie would struggle even more getting back up the bank than coming down—and knowing she was a real bitch for not staying and helping, especially since Valerie had devoted her morning to searching for her. “I’m gonna head back to the trailer and take a nap.”

“But, Sammi—”

“Look, I’ll talk to you later, okay? We were up late, I’m wrecked.” Sammi yawned and didn’t bother to cover her mouth.

“No, what I wanted to say…look, they found blueleaf. They don’t think anyone ate it, the plants were young, but there’s an alert.” Her worried face sagged. “There’s a buddy-up, right after breakfast.”

As if on cue, the breakfast bell chimed, two soulful tones carried on the mist. Sammi loved that bell possibly more than anything else about New Eden, the way it sounded like it had once hung in a beautiful old cathedral, the way it made the air still and silent and echo-y for a few seconds after it stopped ringing.

“Fuck…”

“I know they’re a pain,” Valerie said, not even commenting on Sammi’s language, which made Sammi want to say it again, or worse. Sometimes she wondered what it would take to get a reaction out of Valerie. Of course the woman was only nice to her because she was dating her dad—if she wasn’t, she would have snapped a long time ago, given Sammi the lecture she probably deserved. Sammi took advantage of her, but honestly, how could she not? How could anyone stand Valerie’s fakey niceness? “We could go together, though…if you want. I mean, once we get there, I’d—”

“You’re with Mrs. Kristobal,” Sammi interrupted. “Right?”

Valerie nodded. “But it won’t take long. You and Cindy can finish up quick and we can eat together. Your dad’ll come back, I’m sure of it—we agreed he’d come back every half hour to check in. Oh, Sammi, he’ll be so glad to see you. He’ll be so incredibly relieved. Maybe, just to make him feel better, you and I could try to stay away from the banks until we get this all sorted out. Keep to the middle of the island, with everyone else. What do you think—shall we make a pact?”

Valerie was trying so hard to give her a brave smile that Sammi gave up and held out her hand to help her scramble up the muddy bank. Valerie took it gratefully, blinking against the sun, which had risen high enough in the sky to warm their faces.

“Good idea,” Sammi muttered, wondering what Valerie would have to say if she knew that not even twelve hours ago her dad had been out on the dock, practically in the water as he buried his face in Cass Dollar’s tits.

Chapter 10

CASS KNEW IT was no accident that breakfast consisted solely of day-old pone, a thick bread made in skillets over the fire from a kaysev-flour batter sizzled in rabbit fat. No fresh kaysev would be served until it had all been checked—in the daylight—a couple more times. This was mere paranoia—the odds of finding more blueleaf were incredibly low. Only the passage of time would get everyone comfortable again, would lull them back into a state of calm.

After most had eaten and before anyone could leave, Dana got up on the porch of the community center and clapped his hands for quiet. Buddy-ups always began this way, with Dana listing the early signs of the disease in his droning voice: the fever, often accompanied by a darkening of the skin and a sheen of perspiration; the dizziness that was traced with euphoria; the sensitivity to light; and the disorientation. He would go on to remind everyone that the old and young were especially vulnerable, things everyone already knew, and then he would lead them in the buddying.

Today, Cass felt people stealing glances at her—with apprehension, judgment, doubt?—and quickly looking away as they found their partners and lined up. Cass stayed rooted to the spot. She knew that Karen would come to her. She was efficient that way, one of Collette’s best volunteers, a spry sixty-plus woman who liked to say she was a “doer.”

There was good-natured grumbling that the vigilance committee, headed by Dana and Neal, had made a special effort to create as many odd couples as they could, putting people together who didn’t ordinarily seek each other out, who didn’t especially like each other. No one said it, but Cass guessed that everyone believed the same thing—that the vigilance committee figured you’d be more likely to turn in a suspicious case if you didn’t like them that much in the first place. Much lip service was given to the promise that “potentials,” as they called the symptomatic, would be treated very well, escorted to the comfortable house that had been set aside for just that purpose. The house was outfitted with magazines and books and canned food and even soda. The windows had been altered to raise only a few inches—enough to slide in a plate of food or a cup of water, but not enough for anyone to crawl out of.

The house, of course, was locked from the outside. Only Dana and two other council members had keys.

The quarantine house had apparently been used twice before, both false alarms. It wasn’t that New Eden hadn’t lost citizens to the Beaters—it had, more than a dozen—but in every case it had been from attacks on the mainland, and those unfortunates had either been dragged away to their fates or mercifully shot by the citizens.

One of the false positives was Gordon Franche, who now kept to himself. People said that the experience of being locked in the house, waiting to see if he was infected, had caused him to lose his mind. His illness had just been a virus, evidently, because after six days he was let out and welcomed back, but he withdrew from all social events and mostly spent his days reading quietly now.

The other one, a woman, had died soon after, drowning in the shallow waters off the mud beach up at the north end of the island. Supposedly, she had been an excellent swimmer. No one talked about her anymore.

“There you are,” Karen said behind her, and Cass fixed a smile in place before she turned around to greet her. They lined up with the others, in two rows before the porch, and stood facing each other, shivering a little in the shadow cast by the building.

“Temperature,” Dana called, and everyone put the back of their hand to their partner’s forehead, like thirty-five concerned mothers checking on sneezing toddlers.

“Eyes,” he said after a while, though by then most people had already checked. It was disconcerting; Cass realized the first time she did this exercise that in reality she rarely actually looked directly into people’s eyes, focusing instead somewhere around their mouths, watching their lips move as they spoke. Dor, of course, was the exception, like Smoke and Ruthie, all of whose eyes she knew like the familiar rooms of a house in which she’d lived forever. Perhaps, she thought, the feeling was a self-protective fear that eye contact might alert people to the bright green of her own irises. It was something she preferred not to think about.

Karen’s eyes were an unremarkable brown, and they were nested in wrinkles, the upper lids drooping and reddened, the lashes thin and pale. But her pupils were a healthy normal size.

Cass was about to make some pleasant, harmless comment, beating Karen to the punch for once—the importance of covering her ass socially was not lost on her—and other pairs of partners were breaking up and returning to the tables or walking off to start their workdays, when Milt Secco surprised everyone by walking up onto the porch and joining Dana. His face was pinched, and he leaned in close to speak. But Cass was close enough to hear him say, “A word, if I might, Dana—”

And she was far from the only one who turned to look at Dana’s partner, who stood frightened and lost-looking, alone at the edge of the yard.

It was Phillip.

Chapter 11

SAMMI AND SAGE ran, taking the shortcut behind a little row of prefab houses. There was a small crowd clustered around the quarantine house, Dana and Zihna conferring on the porch, Earl visible through the front door that Sammi had never seen open before. Phillip stood with his back against the house, under the overhang a few feet from Dana, looking as though a strong gust of wind would blow him away. Phillip looked smaller, standing there. How many times had Sage gone on and on about how buff he was? Even Sammi had to admit he was the best-looking boy on the island, his blond, blue-eyed good looks saved from being too perfect by that nose of his, which had been broken in a ski accident. Now, though, he was wearing a paper mask on the lower half of his face, the sort that the dental hygienist would wear back when Sammi went in every six months with her mom.

“Phillip!” Sage burst ahead of Sammi and broke through the crowd. People stepped out of her way, but before she could get to the porch, Old Mike grabbed her arm and she flailed in his grasp, grunting and pushing off of him.

Sammi caught up to her and took her other arm. “Sage, stop.”

“They think he’s got the fever, Sammi, they’re gonna lock him up—”

“Calm down, you have to, just listen to me, come here a minute....” Sammi talked fast but softly. The way Zihna talked to the girls when they were upset. The way Valerie sometimes talked to her, which she hated, but Sammi didn’t have a lot of experience with trying to calm people down, though she did know one thing, and that was that Sage could not win this one.

Sage’s eyes welled with tears and she was leaning out of Old Mike’s grip, trying to use her body’s weight as leverage. But Old Mike—who wasn’t really all that old but still rather older than Fat Mike—was stronger than he looked. He used to be a mechanic at the airport, and his stance said he was determined to hold his ground.

Earl stepped out onto the porch and looked out at the crowd. Saying nothing, he put a hand on Phillip’s shoulder and pushed him back into the doorway. The boy went mutely, shuffling, and now Sammi could see that he was trembling. He didn’t look sick, though with that mask on she couldn’t see much. He just looked scared, scared as shit, and since his mom had died in the first round of fever and his older brother and his girlfriend had set out for Sacramento in December and not been heard from since, he didn’t have anyone to come to his aid.

Except for Sage. They’d been together since before Sammi got to New Eden, and it was as serious as any couple she knew about, even if they were young. They sat together during Red’s crazy homeschool sessions, and both worked part-time in the laundry so they could spend their work hours together, too. Phillip was always trying to make her laugh, and he gave her the best parts of his meals and took her plate to the washtub. They had been close enough that occasionally Sammi felt left out, and on those occasions she just hung out with Kyra and told herself it didn’t matter, not everyone had to be her best friend all the time, except some days were so lonely that she would have traded everything to have a best friend and on those days she would have picked Sage, if Sage wasn’t obsessed with Phillip and didn’t already have someone more important in her life than Sammi, just like everyone had something more important to them than her.

Like a certain parent who couldn’t even be bothered to be here now. If he was, he would know what to do, Sammi thought and then immediately felt angry. Well, her dad used to be in charge of a whole town or whatever, to hear the way Cass talked, and Cass said he was fair and brave and took care of things and even set up a whole system of commerce and laws and shit. Which, if she really admitted it to herself, Sammi had felt secretly proud of. But where was he now? When there was a real crisis, when Phillip needed him—when Sammi needed him—when someone had to step up and take care of things, and it was so stupid with New Eden having this whole collaborative-governing shit. No one was ever really in charge and whenever the least little thing went wrong it was like this with all the adults standing around staring at each other and no one doing anything that would actually make things better.

“Let him go!” Sage screamed, her voice wild and unfamiliar. “He’s not sick, just look at him, he didn’t do anything, you just want to throw someone in there to make it look like you’re doing something—”

But Sammi caught her breath, because Phillip was looking back at them, his hand on the doorjamb to steady himself, most of his face obscured by the white mask except for his eyes, which were frightened and beseeching—

—and his pupils had almost disappeared.

Tiny black specks in the sky-blue of his eyes. And his skin… Phillip was fair, so fair he wore a big straw hat to avoid getting sunburned during the day, and it looked like a woman’s gardening hat so that Shane and Kalyan sometimes called him Ladyhat.... His skin was not so pale today. It had a burnished-gold tone, and there was a sheen to the skin above his eyes, that faint perspiration that made a person seem to glow.

A person with the fever glowed that way.

Sammi dug her fingers more tightly into Sage’s arm and yanked her back.

“Ow, Sammi, stop, you’re hurting me,” Sage wailed, as Earl spoke quietly to Phillip, and Phillip stepped back, disappearing into the house. Earl closed the door and Old Mike let go of Sage so abruptly that she fell against Sammi and they almost stumbled to the ground together.

And Dana took the key out of his pocket and locked the door.

Zihna did her best with Sage but in the end it was Red who finally got her to sleep, on the sofa in front of the fire. They almost never lit fires in the fireplace. The rule was that fires were only for the public space, both for conservation and safety. There was no way to put large fires out besides an old-fashioned bucket brigade, and everyone had seen city blocks consumed by fire during the worst times and remembered just how quickly it could reduce a building to nothing.

But one of them must have gone around quietly spreading the word to the neighbors, because an hour after dark Red laid the twigs and some crumpled comic books under the dry kindling and soon he had a roaring fire going, one that reminded Sammi of long-ago nights before her dad left, when they’d end a day of skiing by picking up ribs from Mountain Smokehouse, and her mom would open a good bottle of wine and they’d all curl up in front of the fire. That fireplace had been beautiful. The stone was faux, but Sammi’s mom had had it installed all the way up the two-story wall, with the oil painting that she’d paid a fortune for hung above it and iron candleholders arranged on the mantel. Sammi always grumbled about having to stay home with them instead of going out with her friends, but she secretly loved these evenings, cuddled under a quilt watching the fire while her parents drank wine and laughed about ridiculous stuff on the couch.

This fireplace was junk, a metal box with a brick hearth and a strip of molding for a mantel, on which Zihna had lined up pretty rocks she found while out walking. It didn’t draw well at all and the house quickly filled up with smoke, but Sage stared into the flames and drank the weak tea that Zihna gave her, the rest of them on the carpet, except for Red, who sat with his arm around Sage and she let him, soundless tears leaking slowly down her face while he mumbled words that only she could hear, dad words, and Sammi thought angrily that he was more of a father to Sage than her own father was to her.

She wasn’t moving back in with him. He and Nathan came straight to the quarantine house as soon as they heard that Phillip had been locked up. Valerie must have told him, and Sammi was pissed at her, too. All she wanted was to be here where Sage needed her, though if she was honest about it Sage hadn’t given her and Kyra a second look since they all came back.