NINETEEN
MOM ORDERS PIZZA THAT NIGHT EVEN THOUGH it’s Mitchell’s twenty-first birthday and we always go out for sushi at his favorite restaurant. Mom and Dad usually wink at the waiter and order mai tais for me and Mitchell. This year, Mitchell could have ordered his drink himself.
“Pizza?” I look at Mitchell from the kitchen table where I browse through a magazine. It’s strange having so much time on my hands. I’ve taken to reading Mom’s décor magazines. “You don’t want your favorite spider roll?”
“Pizza is good. Let’s get pineapple and ham.” Mitchell shoots a quick look to Mom and smiles in a way that tells me they discussed this in advance.
“You just don’t want to take me out,” I say. “In public. Afraid Mrs. Doyle is going to be standing in her yard? Giving us the evil eye?”
“Davina, that’s not true,” Mama chides, but her eyes dart to my brother, clearly looking for help.
He sighs and props his hip against the counter. “After last week . . .” He motions to the small television on the kitchen counter that’s still replaying the tragedy. There hasn’t been much new information, but they keep flashing the faces of the four carriers. They look about my age. One or two of them might be in their twenties. Three of the four are imprinted, and the ink collars look so large on their necks . . . bigger and darker in their mug shots. “The Agency hasn’t even let you go back to school yet. It just seems like a good idea to stay inside.”
I nod and cross my arms. “I understand. You’re right. It makes sense. I should just stay a hermit in my home.”
“Davy.” My brother doesn’t look at me in the careful way Mom does. He’s too sincere for that. Too honest. Like the time he told Se?ora Ramirez the only Spanish he needed to know was cerveza, el ba?o, and quiero sexo. Yeah. He was that high school boy. “Don’t be a drama queen about it.”
I start to leave the kitchen. “Call me when the pizza is here.”
“Davy, wait.”
I turn, watching as Mom grabs a remote and increases the volume on the television set. The president stands there in the House chamber before members of the House and Senate, waiting for applause to settle. A reporter drones on in whispered tones about this being the second time the president has addressed the nation since last week. I watch numbly, half listening, certain he will wax on about loss and tragedy and prayers for the victims and families. Which is why I don’t fully comprehend his words at first. Not until he mentions “HTS” and “carrier” several times do I begin to process.
“. . . for the protection of this great nation, the time has arrived to give full attention to the HTS threat so that we do not have a repeat of last week’s tragedy.” There is a pregnant pause as the president stares out at the room. “Detention of all carriers has become an utmost necessity. . . .”
“Mom,” I whisper, still staring at the screen, hearing nothing else. “What does he mean?” I understand his words, but none of it seems real. She waves a hand for me to quiet, her gaze riveted to the TV.
“The Wainwright Agency in conjunction with the Department of Justice, Homeland Security, and FEMA are mobilizing as I speak to amass all registered carriers throughout the country and transfer them into suitable locations. No small undertaking, but one that shall help us achieve the ideals upon which this great nation was founded . . . life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. . . .”
Mitchell grabs the television and wrestles it from the wall. Mom screams his name, but he ignores her, howling with rage. I watch, stunned as my brother wrenches it free and sends it crashing to the floor.
I look up from the sparking TV to my brother, his face flushed with rage, chest heaving with exertion.
“I’ll help you,” he pants. “We can run away, Dav.”
“And go where?” I ask, a strange calm coming over me. I’m listed in the national database and I’m wearing an imprint on my neck. There’s nowhere to go. No border I could cross. No plane I could board. Nowhere to hide.
“They can’t do this to you.” Mitchell looks from me to Mom, his eyes pleading with her, seeking support. She stares ahead, her features pale and drawn.
I touch my brother’s arm, sliding my hand down to his. “No running, Mitchell. I’ve got to stay.”
He steps back until he collides with the wall. His face scrunches up and a choked cry breaks loose, rattles from his chest. He slides down the wall until he hits the floor. I watch as he buries his face into his hands. I feel every one of his jagged sobs like a claw-swipe to my heart.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
PART TWO:
MOUNT HAVEN
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
* * *
The situation of overcrowding must be attended. Please stop sending carriers to this location. Our present population demands relief. I can reach no solution against the rising tide of disease that has befallen this camp. We lost six carriers this month alone, and even a guard died, infected with the same illness that has plagued the camp since we opened. . . .
—Correspondence from director of Camp 19 to Dr. Wainwright