Lillian stared at her with narrowed eyes, lips twitching as if she were talking to herself. She said, “What’s going on?”
“People are getting sick, some a little sick and some a lot sick. And everybody’s trying to figure it all out, and to change the way the government works. I wish I knew enough to answer your question fully.”
“But we won’t die.”
“We were designed not to catch this kind of cold. Some people never catch certain colds. We’re like that. It’s normal. I’m working with the city in the Health Department to help people. Because I can.”
When they got to City Hall, she’d ask about Neal. Maybe it was just a minor wound that bled a lot.
The girl stood thinking, her lips still twitching. Berenike waited. It was a lot to take in.
“I’ll help too, then,” Lillian said.
“It’s a deal.” Berenike held out her hand, and they shook, an old-fashioned formality reserved for the most solemn occasions.
The police were still outside when they left. The female officer came with the keys to open Berenike’s handcuff. Berenike reauthorized the van, and she and Lillian got in. She set the controls for City Hall, then took out her phone.
She’d need to tell Irene and Avril about the White House spy thing. Crazy countermutineers were everywhere, but Berenike had some good news, too.
“Lillian, want to leave a message? You can say hello to your sisters.”
CHAPTER10
Irene woke up with a cramp in her shoulder from sleeping in an odd position because of the handcuffs. She instantly remembered where she was, not merely in jail but in the midst of a disaster.
What time was it? She peered out the narrow window in the door. The open area had a half dozen round steel tables and benches, but no people. Obviously, everyone would be in lockdown. She had to pee and squirmed down her pants. She drank some water by contorting so she could put her mouth under the faucet. She was hungry but doubted breakfast would arrive anytime soon.
She had little else to do besides worry, which she was getting good at. She tried to think about something else, anything else. Groundwater, for example. Where would be a good site for mass graves? Because there were going to be some, for people or for livestock, and they could contaminate the drinking water. The Wausau Ginseng Festival would be canceled, obviously. Sports events, too, maybe her favorite video shows—maybe forever, but not Finding the Line, she hoped.
Within minutes, her attempt at not worrying collapsed in the flood of reality and the absence of a phone to distract her or inform her. Was Nimkii still alive? A target for frightened farmers? Were a long list of people safe, including Avril and the second and maybe third sister?
She tried to sleep again. Nope. She paced for a while. She sat on the cot, listened very carefully, and she might have heard voices in other cells or from upstairs.
Her family, her friends, the whole world—the worry for them ached like blistering burns. Worry was circular and had no end, only repetition.
The lock clicked. Outside stood a pair of deputies, both wearing face masks and gloves.
“Irene Ruiz?” one asked, as if she could be someone else. “You’re free to go.”
She jumped to her feet. “I am?”
The deputy, a woman with brown hair pulled into a ponytail, shrugged. “The local federal prosecutors say so. I don’t know what’s going on. We’ll get you your stuff and send you home. Come on.”
Irene took a few steps toward the door, toward freedom and the ongoing disaster they all had to cope with.
“Wait, are you cuffed?” the woman said.
“Yeah, the people who brought me here did that.”
“Oh, the dead guys.”
“Only one’s dead,” the other deputy said, a middle-aged man. “We still have the other one. She’s not going anywhere.” He turned to Irene. “Do you know which one of them had the key?”
“The dead guy. His name was Ethan.”
He looked at the woman for confirmation. She nodded. “Then the key is in the morgue. I’m not going there.”
“Me neither.”
Irene felt fresh despair.
“Bolt cutter?” the man suggested.
“Gonna have to be that,” the woman said. “I think I know where there’s one. Come on.”
Upstairs, they entered a long room lined with empty desks that looked like they’d normally be busy, and they had her sit and wait while the woman walked away. A clock said 8:34 A.M.
“How are things?” Irene asked the man, who’d sat down at a desk.
He stared at a display on the desk for a while. It was flashing with what might have been a lot of updates. “Every kind of chaos you can think of. No one knows even who’s in charge.” He went back to staring at the screen.
She waited, staring at the clock.
At 8:45, the woman returned, carrying what looked sort of like a wire cutter with tiny blades at the end of yard-long handles, a ridiculous-looking tool. It clipped through the link between the cuffs like cardboard, then, with a little difficulty to clip only the metal and avoid her flesh, through the cuffs themselves.
“There you are,” the deputy said. “And this should be your phone.” She held out the envelope. “Sorry we can’t do more. Stay safe. Exit’s that way.”
“Why did you let me go?”
“White House had no right to order your arrest. That’s what I’m told.”
“What about the woman who brought me here? Ruby Hobbard?”
“She’s downstairs. Not going to get out. I guess she’s wanted for attempted mass murder, trying to gas people at one of those political prisons. That’s all I know. Sorry for all the confusion. You take care.” The woman turned away.
Irene followed some signs on the walls to the front entrance. No one, not even a guard, was in the lobby, although a red light said that
