“I’ll leave now,” Irene said. Ruby hung up without answering. No, not decent yet.
Irene held her breath, went into the kitchen, gathered up a snack, found the eye drops, and gave herself another dose. She’d bring the tiny bottle with her. No one was going to take care of her besides herself.
She went to the pen and threw her hat over the fence. Nimkii hurried to pick it up. “I’ll be back soon, pedazo!” she promised. “With food!” He knew a lot was going wrong. He had better be patient, because she had nothing else to offer him but promises.
She began walking. Maybe, when she got the truck, she’d just go home and stop pretending she cared about Nimkii. Except that she did. But he needed a new home anyway. If they walked to Madison together, where could he stay? The university had a forest.
She checked for news. Through her mother’s artist network, she’d found a kind of broadcast, and it was all about the cold and the mutiny. People were advised to stay home. The list of cities and institutions and people who had mutinied kept growing—a lot of hospitals and medical suppliers, tired of being puppets to profit rather than serving their patients. She tried to find out what was happening in Wausau. A fight seemed to be under way. Maybe when she had the truck she could go see for herself.
Or she could go get herself some medical care. She felt fine, but people could get very sick very fast. She needed to take care of herself—and she needed to take that fact seriously.
She ate the snack she’d grabbed, an almost-empty box of cereal, a juice box without a straw, and a package of crackers. She dropped the empty packages and crumbs as she went. The world could just deal with her mess. She’d had enough of cleaning up its messes.
Berry Farm came into sight. Fewer cars and trucks were parked around it, whatever that meant. Highway traffic seemed lighter. The centaurs were still there.
She raised her hands as she stepped onto the driveway. No one rushed out with a gun. She kept walking slowly, ready to duck or act even more submissive. A centaur approached.
At the sound of a gunshot, she dropped to the ground, covering her head with her hands. She wasn’t hurt. Maybe she wasn’t the target. She didn’t move. Nothing happened. Maybe it was a warning shot. Footsteps crunched in the gravel and stopped next to her. She stayed still, held her breath, and played dead until she couldn’t hold her breath anymore.
Whatever was next to her had not moved. Only a machine could stand that still for that long. She turned her head to peek, and saw a centaur pointing a long, ugly weapon at her.
“Identify yourself,” the robot said in a much-too-human voice.
“Irene Ruiz. I’m here to see Ruby Hobbard. She called me and told me to come.”
“Remain where you are. Do not move.”
She lay there perfectly still, taking shallow breaths, and felt like a target. Just like the other farm, this place, the ground beneath her body, and everything she could see when she raised her head was enemy territory. Yes, it was time to go home, back to Madison, as soon as she could, with or without Nimkii.
Someone in full police armor came out of the farmhouse: helmet, body armor, and a gun, which was pointed at her. Ruby, judging from the physique and walk. She came close but didn’t shift her aim.
“How did it happen?” she said.
Irene knew what she meant. “Will shot himself. In the living room.”
“You should have stopped him.”
“I was feeding Nimkii.”
“You should have stopped him!”
That’s a job for a mother, not a tool that talks. Irene remained still and silent. Nothing she could say would do any good.
Ruby shook. Sobs? Rage? The helmet hid her face.
Irene thought of something neutral to say. “I’ll go back home now.” She waited for permission to get up. If Ruby denied the truck she’d walk away and just keep on walking.
Ruby motioned with her gun toward the barn. “Get up and get in there.”
Irene had to pretend she didn’t know what Ruby meant. “In the barn?”
“You belong in there.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will.”
“But what about Nimkii?”
“I’ll shoot him when I go home.”
Nimkii! “Oh, no, don’t do that. We can find him a new home.”
“Move.” She motioned with the gun again.
Irene felt tears rise. And anything she did would be futile. She got up and walked toward the barn. Maybe Nimkii would break out again. Maybe the mutiny would break the prison free any minute now. Maybe she had the delta cold and would die. Or maybe Ruby would. Each step brought another thought, every one of them sour.
The door on the barn opened automatically.
“Keep going,” Ruby said. “And through the next door. I’ll be watching, and I’ll be glad to kill you.”
Irene knew she would. She stepped into a little corridor like a double entrance to a business. The door behind her closed, and she heard noise from inside the barn, voices, a lot of voices. The door ahead opened—into a wide space dimly lit by translucent panels in the ceiling. It held dozens, maybe a hundred people, and many of them were dancing and singing along to music from someone’s phone. The air smelled stale.
They turned to look at her, and a grinning young man started walking toward her, clapping to the rhythm and wearing a purple T-shirt that said CANCER SURVIVOR. He sang, “I’m going to shine my light both far and near.” He stopped. “Welcome to Berry Farm Prison!”
“I guess I found the party.”
“You didn’t bring any food, did you?”
She couldn’t tell if he was joking. The wide space held tables, chairs, and bunk beds.
“I know,” he said, “cozy, isn’t it? I’m Koobmeej. I’m not really a cancer survivor. I got this shirt from a neighbor. He was handing them out. Purple, you know.
