“You’re lucky you’re even in here,” one of the men carrying Daniel said. “Shut up, or we’ll put you in with the women.”
“That’s okay with me,” Phil said, his voice going distant as the rhythmic thumps spoke of Daniel’s passage through the arena. “They don’t fart or spit or snore.”
Daniel stifled a nervous smile, hyperventilating while they were moving so he could hold his breath longer when they were not. He listened to the silence spread out from them as they passed through the compound, and he stifled a shiver, wondering how many more “new” cases might crop up tomorrow in an attempt at freedom. He’d given them hope, and his heart swelled. They had something to aim for, something to strive toward, and he was proud of their resilience.
“Hold up,” one man said as they stopped, and then louder, “Rob! Some help here?”
“Just a sec!” came a distant voice, and then the rapid patter of footsteps. “I got the truck to wait, but he says he won’t take him,” Rob said, and then came the squeak of the gate opening. Again they moved forward, and the fence clanged shut. Never would Daniel have thought that bars meant to keep people out would be used to keep them in, and he fought to remain slack and passive.
He could smell fresh air and hear the sound of a diesel truck. “Adric!” the man at his feet shouted, grunting from his weight. “Hold up. One more for you.”
“Look, I already told Rob. This is my last stop. I don’t have time for the paperwork.”
“Then we’re all in luck,” the man holding Daniel’s feet said, and Daniel tensed as they began swinging him back and forth as if to throw him. “This guy,” he said between swings, “doesn’t . . . have . . . any!”
They let go on the last word, and Daniel shuddered when his stomach dropped and he fell on the squishy, firm feeling of a person. They were treating him like a chunk of wood, and he gritted his teeth, eyes closed as he heard a tarp pulled over them all.
“Just take him to the park with the rest, will you?” someone said. “One more body isn’t going to kill anyone.”
“He’s not even in a bag,” the driver of the truck said, but the voices dropped in volume, and before long, the truck revved its engine and they jostled into motion.
Daniel shifted, rolling to get off the person under him and to the edge, where he could look out through the open slats. The road changed and their speed picked up. He sucked in the new air, relishing the coolness even as his sock feet became cold. He wouldn’t look behind him at the bodies, the uniform black bags doing little to ease the horror of what they contained. “Orchid!” he whispered, but there was nothing.
He was alone in Chicago, in the back of a morgue truck, but he would find Trisk if it was the last thing he did.
30
Shocks squeaking, the morgue truck trundled through the streets of Chicago. There was no traffic, and no one stopped them. Daniel began to shiver, and he wondered if the driver would have a heart attack if he banged on the panel between them and asked if he could ride up front.
Fortunately, they kept to the surface streets, and Daniel tensed as he saw the sign directing traffic to the Adams Street police department. At the next red light, he slipped to the back of the truck’s bed, climbing over the gate and rolling out under the tarp. It was a long drop to the pavement, and he hit awkwardly, his breath hissing in when his ankle gave a twinge. Adrenaline rising, he lurched to the curb, tucking in behind a mailbox on the corner when the light changed and the driver smoothly shifted gears and drove away.
His back against the cold metal box, Daniel sat on the sidewalk and fumbled to put his glasses on. He felt naked without his shoes, cold without a coat. There was no traffic, no TV blaring, no voices raised in anger or conversation, no heels clicking or low men’s voices rumbling in the dark. The curfew or plague had silenced it all.
“Orchid!” he whispered, his relief shocking when the pixy dropped down, her dust looking like fog in the dim streetlight over the intersection.
“Nice drop and roll,” she said, hovering before him with a scrap of candy bar wrapper around her as if it was a shawl. “I told you I could get you out.”
“That you did,” he said, even as he knew the memory of hitching a ride out with the dead would stay with him forever. “You want to warm up in my pocket?” he asked as he reached behind his sweater-vest to pull his shirt pocket open, and she dropped in to settle like a little mouse. “I think we’re just a few blocks from the station,” he added, surprised at the need to protect her. Sock feet cold on the sidewalk, he shook his head ruefully and started walking. “I should’ve thought this through a little more. I have no idea how I’m going to get in and out of there with Trisk.”