The community, p.4
The Community, page 4
He smelled as if he had sampled the wine being poured for the guests, giving him the confidence to behave like Nora and Frankie were insects who had flown into a nest. Frankie giggled, leaning over to sling her arm over Nora.
“She just took her time getting here. Leonard, meet my dearest friend. We’re so bored with upstairs, aren’t we, Nor? Wanted a little more fun. And it turns out …” Frankie turned on her heel and grinned broadly at the men surrounding her “… we found it.”
Leonard ignored the hoots of his whiskey-fueled waitstaff and tilted his head to his right shoulder, listening to a feed coming through his ear, then stared directly at Nora. “You’re being watched. I’m told you are to eat something?”
Nora nodded, forcing herself to pout. This man was no fool. Sometimes she worried the Protectants could read minds, too. “The duck didn’t sit well with my stomach.”
Leonard frowned. “And you couldn’t relay that to the dozens of staff we employ?” Nora felt caught out. Countless Ones and Twos scurried around them, loading up trays laden with desserts and drinks. They had zero reason to come near the kitchen.
Nora called upon her same courtroom skills that she used to infuriate the senator: silence. She stood back, letting Frankie do what she did best … be herself. Frankie took her cue and leaned forward, waiting for Leonard to do the same. He hesitated, then met Frankie at her level, his eyes flitting downward to her ample cleavage.
“It’s hard to make specific dietary requests at a function like this … Nora doesn’t want the senator’s family to come across as, you know … difficult.” Frankie twisted her shoulders, her breasts bouncing up and down in a captivating manner, then leaned forward even further as if letting Leonard in on a secret. “People talk.”
Leonard straightened, looking from Frankie to Nora, considering this. He pursed his lips, pausing to glance once more at Frankie’s chest, then exhaled.
“I suppose that would be challenging. What is it we can get for you?”
Nora forced herself not to give any outward emotion, but her insides slumped in relief. She called upon her years of listening to her adopted uncle’s rantings against allergy requests and described the most ridiculous, outlandish meal she could imagine. Leonard grimaced at his notepad, then peeled off the ticket and handed it to a runner as if it was a dirty dishrag.
“If that is all …?”
As Leonard turned, bright and upbeat music suddenly blasted from the kitchen sound system, knocking Leonard and the rest of the kitchen crew back.
“Dammit! I can’t cook with that!” A man’s voice screeched from behind the shelves of ingredients, blocking Nora’s view. Leonard turned around and glared at Frankie and Nora, while the sous chef ran to console the man behind the spices. The jovial mood of the kitchen was quickly disintegrating.
Frankie glanced at Leonard’s nametag and pressed her gold chip. “Fifty-currency transfer to Citizen-ID 20753.” She smiled, ignoring the anger no longer boiling underneath the surface but bubbling over from Leonard’s every pore. “You’ve been a dream, Leonard. We’ll wait for Nora’s meal at the table.”
She and Frankie turned and made their way out of the kitchen, exiting to the sounds of hoots and hollers from the appreciative waitstaff while praying Lo had accomplished something that would make this all worthwhile. The doors spat them into the open hallway, white-jacketed men streaming around them. Nora couldn’t see Lo anywhere in the corridor, but she did see Protectant agents lurking on the far end, so she looped her arm in Frankie’s and walked at a smooth, unhurried pace.
“When did the chef say it would be ready? I’m about to keel over.” Nora held her hand to her stomach just as they passed one agent. The agent’s eyes twitched in their direction, but otherwise the man did nothing.
Frankie shrugged, speaking just as loudly. “You’re too picky. You can’t expect everything to taste like Uncle Cordon prepared it.”
Nora shrugged, squeezing Frankie’s arm in thanks. It might just be the last peaceful moment she’d spend with her friend.
“Reborn. Revive. Rebuild,” said the narrator, as Frankie and Nora entered the ballroom. Apparently after a quick dessert service, the Protectant picked up right where they left off. Nora took her seat, uneasy, surprised to see another video playing. She wasn’t alone. Whispers and weighted glances were being exchanged all over the ballroom.
A gritty shot showed Jim, Nate’s grandfather and the founder of the Community, standing in front of deep underwater caves where he had sheltered during the catastrophic flare. Nora watched wryly as Senator Abbott angled his chin, aligning his jaw with that of his father’s image.
A waiter approached just as Nora spotted Lo rushing to her seat. She breathed a sigh of relief then recoiled at the mish mash of vegetables in a brown smear. She forced a smile of thanks as she realized she must eat the concoction. Hmm. She hadn’t thought that through properly.
Onscreen, Nate’s grandfather aged, and a much younger Senator Abbott took over.
“We’ve evolved,” the narrator intoned. Nora stabbed a forkful and wondered how one’s definition of evolving meant killing off its babies.
“Our limited population has allowed us to enact life-changing Levels, a system that ensures food, shelter, education and healthcare for all.” Nora forced down another piece of shapeless yellow something.
“Thanks to Senator Abbott, we’ve overcome our lack of trees and installed life-saving oxygen farms.” The screen panned miles upon miles of machinery while those surrounding the senator’s table whispered accolades and congratulations. Nora chewed something that might have involved beets.
“Our small number allows us to wipe the slate clean, pushing and creating new boundaries of science to deliver genetic engineering we never thought possible.” Rows of babies incubating in Lab Zero filled the screen. At this, Frankie looked meaningfully at Nora, who shook her head just slightly, pushing her plate back. There couldn’t have been a worse time to see the video.
The narrator droned tonelessly on, whispered conversations swirling around Nora as if the volume were on low. Nate leaned over to say something that didn’t register. Nora instead counted the exits: one, two, a third over there. Had Lo done it? Nora didn’t smell anything; hear anything. Everything seemed fine. But it wasn’t. Nothing was fine. Time was almost up.
“Where will we go next?” asked the narrator, a shot of the aeronautics campus now on display. “That’s for our robust space program to answer. Tonight, on our fiftieth anniversary, we celebrate our future with a major announcement. Citizens of the Community, please welcome Leader Swanson.”
The picture faded away, and the entire audience shifted in their seats, expectant. From the back of the ballroom, four waiters seemed to have difficulty pushing a rolling cart carrying a gravity-defying cake: towering several feet high with multiple layers, the top level glittered with thin candles, not yet lit, in the shape of the numerals “50”. Citizens gave an appreciative gasp as it rolled by. Frankie’s mother emerged from her chair and paused on the stage steps, watching in equal fascination as the pastry wobbled its way toward the front.
Just beyond the cart, several Protectant agents milled about, including the one from the ladies’ room. Nora watched, horrified, as Agent 4692 stopped mid-stride, twisting to face her dead-on. He cocked his head to the right, held up a hand, and spread his fingers.
“Five minutes,” he mouthed.
Nora closed her eyes for a few moments before opening them. No, he was still there.
As the cart rolled behind Frankie, a waiter stumbled, barely missing the cake. Those watching shrieked, then laughed as the confection was saved. The music continued to swell its resounding crescendo, but the waiter kneeled, examined the cart, then waved for help. A wheel was missing, and the already heavy cart was made even worse from the mishap. Both waiters whispered furiously, the music at its zenith.
Leader Swanson stood onstage, her fingers tapping lightly on the podium. The audience tittered, uneasy, wondering who would receive a Protectant demerit for the public embarrassment as the orchestra gave their all to a pastry at a standstill.
Leader Swanson’s brow furrowed as she held up a hand to her ear, looking to the side of the stage. Holding up a finger toward a confused Brody, their highest elected officer suddenly picked up the train of her crystal-bedecked gown, and made her way back down the stairs, whispering in Brody’s ear before walking toward the edge of the ballroom and out the door, multiple agents trailing her.
A minute passed, then two, until Brody bounded toward center stage. “Andddd the special announcement is now saved for the anniversary celebration!” Brody said, his voice loud and upbeat. “Don’t be too disappointed – I am authorized to tell you it has something to do with our vast space program. Speaking of which, let’s get a round of applause for the incredible journey we’ve taken as a Community.”
It was little wonder Brody was a sports announcer: He distracted and animated the crowd with ease, the room’s slow clap eventually picking up speed as Brody bounced on his toes and raised his hands above his head. “We’ve come a long way and there’s a long way we need to go, including heart research!” Brody yelled into the mike.
Nora looked at Nate. Where is your dad? she mouthed, and he gave an imperceptible head shake. Her stomach twisted. Maybe it was a Community emergency. She looked over at the senator’s table and saw Lo looking back at her, an eyebrow raised.
Or maybe … something was wrong.
Across the table, Frankie tried to conceal a slightly manic grin on her face with a swig of oxygen. She looked between Lo and Nora, all three of them wide-eyed in anticipation. Had they pulled it off?
“I’m excited to announce the winners of tonight’s silent auction, as well as our overall total raised.” Brody grinned at the audience, then looked to the right, where a woman in a plain worker’s uniform was rushing to the stage. Brody’s smile faltered; usually a glittering Level Six woman did the honors. Brody looked out at the bright spotlight.
“Mrs. Wheeler, you’re too afraid to admit to your husband what you spent this year, is that it?” A few in the audience laughed, but most remained quiet. Something was definitely wrong. The worker said something and gestured to Brody; whatever she said caused him to frown.
Nora shifted in her chair and leaned toward Nate. “Get ready to run.”
He looked at her steadily, processing what his fiancée just told him, then gave a curt nod. That was it. They were ready if they got the chance.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m going to have to ask you to remain calm.”
Three things happened at once. Nate was speaking to her, but Nora couldn’t hear him over the deafening alarm system that eliminated all other sounds, causing everyone in the room to leap to their feet in panic. All the Protectant agents hungrily watching the clock moved in unison toward Nora, a black mass descending upon their table like a rolling thundercloud. And Frankie turned to Colin, yanked a lighter out of his suit pocket, and turned to the cake. Nora watched, frozen at the gleeful, almost evil grin on Frankie’s face as she pressed on the metal charge and produced a flame, which flickered, glowed, then erupted in a magnificent burst of light, first momentary alighting on the cake’s dainty numeral candles before erupting in a massive fireball of buttercream, linen, and natural gas vapors. Colin, in the direct line of flame, was thrown backward, his scream lost in the alarm tone.
Landing squarely in the middle tier, Colin’s meticulously crafted suit plunged in whorls of sugary buttercream, his furious cursing inaudible over the mind-numbing alarm.
The towering dessert rocked and swayed, its immense layers trembling like an earthquake before settling in misshapen fault lines of crumbling sponge-cake and cracked fondant on the path of fleeing attendees. Stilettos slipped and slid, women skating into one another, tumbling to the ground in frosting soup.
Meanwhile, the natural gas that has been building since Lo’s burst pipe, quickly took hold among the ballroom, racing along thick carpets to find ample amounts of oxygen bars and spilled liquor, quickly turning the ballroom into a fiery deathtrap.
The fracas was exactly what Nora needed.
Nora pulled Nate under the table and pointed to the now-forgotten cart. It was one of the few, if only, escape routes.
Nate nodded in understanding, and Nora dove underneath the heavy red cloth that draped down the cart’s sides. Curling herself in a tight ball, she tucked her gown underneath her knees, just managing to fit on the cart’s base. Flicking the linen away from her body to ensure she was covered, she wrapped her hands around her knees, waiting.
Nora attempted a deep breath, but it came in a panicked gulp. What if she burned to death? The heat inside the little cart, buried inside the linens, was suffocating. At least tracking wouldn’t work – they knew she was in the ballroom. But pinpointing her in this vicinity, with this kind of chaos, was pointless.
Then, with a sudden jolt – the cart was moving. Nora pressed her palms to the floor to steady herself, her heart racing.
She hoped Nate wasn’t moving the cart. That would give the game away. But if not, who? And where would Nate have gone? There hadn’t been time to figure it out.
Another rattle of the cart whisked the curtains to the side and Nora’s mind could barely take in what she was seeing: a huge wall of fire that engulfed the middle of the room; a tangle of women fighting to emerge from a buttercream swamp; agents worsening the situation by tossing water on them and not the fire; a cake-covered Colin screaming after a fleeing Frankie; other agents yelling at running attendees not to run; more agents yelling at Community officers; officers yelling right back at the agents to get off their high horses and stick to their jurisdictions; citizens yanking silent auction prizes off tables and escaping past the flames; waiters nipping priceless bottles of Champagne; all fleeing in every direction as the fire raged.
A high, tinny screeching sound was followed by a cinematic downpour from ceiling sprinklers. Men, women, waiters and agents alike yelled at the onslaught of chemical-tinged water that cascaded over them in a torrential force, extinguishing the flames.
Nora’s cart came to an abrupt halt and a thin, wrinkled hand came down and hovered above the split in the linens. A flash of green could be seen on one of the fingers.
“Stay there,” a voice instructed, barely heard above the shrieking alarms.
Nora obeyed, shaking with nerves and adrenaline. She assumed it was waiters moving the heavy cart, but it wasn’t a waiter’s hand who cautioned her. She knew that emerald ring. It belonged to Cecily, Senator Abbott’s wife.
She was helping Nora escape.
CHAPTER 5
Nora felt the cart roll again, and she steadied herself, wondering how Lo managed to speak to Cecily. As a savior, she couldn’t be more perfect. Cecily was one of the few permitted in a limited-access tunnel, and perhaps the only person who cared for Nate’s well-being as much as Nora. She would be found, no question. Tunnel monitors and Nora’s chip would feed enough information back to the Protectant. But Cecily could potentially give her enough of a head start to get, well, somewhere.
As the cart rumbled over a threshold and onto a bumpy, metal surface, Nora remained huddled inside. They must be in the service elevator. The cart continued to rattle, but now Nora felt a whooshing sensation as the bottom dropped and they moved underground. Definitely an elevator. The alarms continued, and in fact, were amplified in the space. Nora pressed her palms to her ears and wished for a migraine injection.
Down.
Down.
Down.
As soon as Nora’s cart hit a new floor, her chip lit up the screen. No longer the needle in a haystack, she was a slow-moving target.
“Service elevator four. Floor six … five … four … target is moving. Sir.”
“No shit. That’s what elevators do, Agent.”
The lieutenant watched Nora Vreecken’s progress over Agent 8356’s shoulder and exhaled.
“Bullseye,” he mouthed, then growled as he clutched his head. The Protectant headquarters may not be in the actual ballroom, but they channeled enough surveillance that the alarms created a shrieking, intolerable sound. He nodded at Agent 8356 to step closer, then ordered an eight-man approach to swarm various exits. The agent nodded, turning to convey the message out in the field.
The lieutenant watched, worried – maybe it wasn’t enough. He would be held responsible if Nora Vreecken was not deposited on the steps of the hospital, pills swallowed, ready for the slaughter, at 09:00. This was a gala for crying out loud. It was supposed to have been easy. Time to dial this up. Way up.
He smacked the back of Agent 8356’s head. Picking up his pad, he tapped out a new order, the blue glow of the vast row of monitors illuminating his small, evenly spaced teeth that bit his lower lip, then pressed send.
The agent bent to look at the screen.
“New plan. Full scale alert. Send teams on all routes. Get her or you drop a Level.”
A sopping wet Nate jogged out of the ballroom, followed closely by a fuming Colin.
“This suit cost thousands. Not like Frankie appreciates that kind of thing; she has no eye for it. What the hell was that about, hitting me like that? I should file a demerit against her, honestly.”
Nate only half-listened, looking for Nora, for his mother, for Lo. He turned one-third of the way down the steps of Abbott Hall. A new siren wailed as the Community’s fire engines came to douse whatever the internal systems hadn’t already drenched. The sirens came from the Level Six center, near Nate’s penthouse. That’s where he and Nora should be – in his apartment, figuring out the situation. Nate’s gaze landed on two P-cars near his own chauffeured vehicle. Shit. Time to move.
Nate hurried to where his driver sat parked, waiting, not pausing for Bill to follow protocol and open the door, but instead yanking it wide open and sliding in on his own.
