Departures Read online

  It is a normal morning now. Exactly what every morning will be moving forward.

  I stare into my square of carbs. Something feels off, and it’s not just that Evie is gone. I heard something before the Departure Crew got here.

  But I couldn’t have. Right?

  Chapter Six

  Evie

  It’s like a dark mark, having a sky-blue Departure Crew van outside your home. Everyone knows what’s happening.

  Not that it’s talked about. It would be rude to remind someone of their loss when they’re supposed to be moving on. It’s one of the things departure dates have given us: we get to say our goodbyes and let go, so we can move on without the baggage. Neat and tidy, like everything else about life in the Quads. So we can continue to thrive, by the official Directorate definition.

  And that’s good. I didn’t want to be a source of pain for my family in an otherwise painless world. Even if the thought of them tucking memories of me away and moving on like healthy citizens makes me feel like something is tearing out my heart.

  But maybe now that won’t have to happen.

  It’s a bumpy ride out of the house and into the van, alone in the dark of the body bag. To keep myself quiet, I slowly – so as not to move visibly from outside the bag – tighten my fists and focus on the pressure of my nails digging into my palms.

  Ronni and Charlie set me down gently – sort of – onto a hard surface, and then I hear a door pull down and fasten. The trunk. They dropped me in the trunk.

  The van shifts as they settle into their seats, and the engine hums to life.

  Ronni calls out, “Stay down back there. If anyone sees you through the windows they’ll have a heart attack.”

  I poke my finger through at the zipper’s end and work it down around my face.

  “Are you kidding? This thing reeks,” I say. It does. Acidic and sharp, like the chemistry room after a lab day, and under that, I imagine I can smell the stench of all the corpses that were stored in here before me. I don’t care if it’s crazy. I smell it.

  “Well. Unzip a little if you have to. But for the love of all that is good, stay out of sight.”

  Good? All we have here is a massive screw-up. I almost say it out loud, but Ronni’s voice quivers with tension, and it reminds me too much of the fear still ringing at the back of my own mind.

  As we pull onto the road, I stare at the van’s ceiling. I breathe in, and my nose crinkles – it smells almost as bad in the van as it did inside the bag. Old. Kind of mildewy. Not at all in line with the Departure Crew vehicles’ shiny, polished exteriors.

  But what’s it really matter? I’m in the back of an old van lying in a body bag on my way to the crem. Everyone I know believes I’m departed. I might as well be departed – I’m going through all the motions.

  My mouth feels sticky and dry and stale. My stomach rumbles again.

  Coffee. Charlie promised me coffee when we get there. Maybe he can get me something to eat, too.

  Then my mind pulls back: This is what I’m worried about right now?

  It's maybe about nine now. On a normal day, one where I’m not supposed to be departed, I would have eaten about two hours ago, and then gone to school.

  No. In a normal life, one where I had a hundred years plus like everyone else, I’d have a career to go to, like Gracelyn will start tomorrow. But for me, all that training would’ve been a waste of Directorate resources.

  Maybe I’ll get a new departure date now, and a career assignment to go with it. I test the idea out. I can see myself returning. Gracelyn’s eyes growing wide with amazement. Mother blinking back tears. Father standing and staring, unable to take it in. I’m so used to blocking myself off to any plans after this point, I have a hard time finding my own reaction. But I know I’d do anything for more time.

  We slow down, and the rumble of trucks rises, passing around us in different directions. The van rolls over a series of bumps, tossing me within the bag. Then we stop and the engine turns off.

  “Do we take her in with us?” Ronni asks.

  “Hmm,” Charlie muses.

  I expect him to say more, but he doesn’t.

  “Don’t leave me here!” My voice is high-pitched and scratchy, and I realize how scared I am.

  “Okay, okay,” Ronni says. “But we should take her in the bag again, don’tchya think, Charlie?”

  “Mmm. Yeah.”

  I’m starting to feel Charlie’s contributions to this whole thing are questionable at best.

  I let out a loud huff. “Fine. Fine.” I squirm around to pull the zipper back up over my head the best I can. “Let’s go.”

  I swear I hear a snicker from Ronni in the front. “Geez, kid. Okay.”

  The front doors open and shut with a burst of rumbling vehicles, then the back pops open with a gust of ashy odor.

  They lift me out, not bothering with the stretcher this time, and I try to give in to the slouch of the bag as they carry me.

  A door slides shut behind us and we stop. They place me on a hard floor. A cheap bell dinks.

  “Pickup van eight twenty-nine. We need to talk with Viv A.S.A.P.” Ronni enunciates the letters, as if each is its own word.

  A new voice, male but chirpy, responds. “Viv is pretty tied up this morning, but she could see you around two if you could – ”

  “You don’t understand. We need to see Viv immediately. We’ve had… an irregularity. With our first pickup of the day. We can’t go back out until we see her.” Ronni’s voice is getting tense. I imagine her face flushing with the frustration like it did in my room.

  “An irregularity?” the man responds. “Well, um, yes… let me… I’ll be right back.” Desk chair wheels clatter, and then steps move briskly away.

  Ronni sighs.

  “There now,” Charlie replies.

  Fingers tap against a countertop. The air inside the body bag grows hot. As I start to sweat, the material sticks to my skin, creating a feeling of walls closing in. I slowly stretch out my fingers and flex my toes, fighting the impulse to rip myself free, while also wondering if maybe I should, because this is all so incredibly horrible and stupid. But you don’t go against the Directorate. And I’m already going against the Directorate just by being alive. I know on a gut level that it’s going to be better for me if I can avoid making a scene about it.

  Footsteps come back towards us.

  “Viv will see you now.”

  “Thank you so much,” Ronni says. They lift me off the ground.

  “Oh,” the assistant says. “Do you really need to take the bag? Let’s put that – ”

  “Yes, we do need the bag.” It’s Charlie this time, with more bite in his voice than I’d have guessed him capable of.

  “Of course,” the other man says. “This way, please.”

  We trail behind a set of footsteps. The creak of a door, a turn, and I’m on the ground again.

  “Viv will be in shortly.”

  The door closes, leaving behind an uncomfortable silence.

  “Well?” Charlie asks.

  “Yeah, I guess we can let her out,” Ronni says.

  The zipper tugs away and the bag falls open. Charlie stares down at me, a serious twitchiness about his mouth. I push myself up.

  We’re in a plain office. Ronni and Charlie are perched near a couple of chairs, shoulders tense and hands in pockets. Across from us is a desk, all in standard ecoplastic wood grain. The walls are a dull white-grey, and I wonder if they were painted that color or if they have faded over time from the ash in the air outside from the crem. Even in here, I’m sure I can smell it. The tail of a watchlizard scurries away under the crack of the door, and panic surges in my veins. You haven’t done anything wrong, I remind myself. Ronni’s eyes flit to the door’s crack and then meet mine. She saw it, too.

  The three of us stand there staring at one another, nothing to say, until the door flies open. A small woman bursts through it with short, wavy hair, streaked with gray. A suit jacket is
thrust over her shoulders like it’s struggling to keep up.

  She starts talking before she is even through the door. “I’ve only got a few minutes, so let’s get right to the – ”

  She turns to face us, and freezes as her eyes reach me, then drop to the bag and back again. A stunned look wraps over her face; she opens her mouth to say something but before she can, the door re-opens and the voice from the front desk cuts her off.

  “I’m sorry, I forgot to ask if anyone would like any coffee or t – oh!” A lean young man with pale skin and delicate glasses pops in and jumps as he sees me.

  If one more person reacts this way to simply seeing me breathing, I might scream.

  But the man recovers and continues with a polite smile. “Anyone? Coffee? Tea? Water, too.” His eyes only flit nervously back to me once. His white shirt is crisp and his hair meticulously gelled back. Unlike Viv, he looks like he belongs in an office. He can’t be more than a couple years older than me.

  “Coffee!” I exclaim. My stomach rumbles again. Coffee will at least hold me over better than the nothing I’ve got now. “Please,” I tag on, regaining some degree of composure.

  The rest of them shake their heads.

  “Thank you, Tad,” Viv says, dismissing him.

  Tad nods and ducks out, closing the door behind him.

  Viv settles into her desk, and her syncscreen rises from within it, a flat thin rectangle. “So,” she says. She straightens out her face into something attempting normality. “I take it this is… um, your pickup…?”

  “Yeah. She wasn’t departed,” Ronni responds, echoing Viv’s movement and settling into one of the chairs. Charlie follows suit. “We wanted to follow protocol as much as possible, but we figured taking her to the crem vault was not appropriate.”

  They figured? As if they really might have dropped me for cremation and gone on their way?

  “Certainly,” Viv agrees. “There’s actually a…” She leans forward and taps madly at her screen. “…a contingency plan for this type of… no…” She taps again, then drags something else forward and searches more. “Ah! Okay.”

  So there is a protocol. My stomach churns, and I can't decide if this makes me feel better or worse. Has this happened before? How many times? Why haven’t I ever heard about it?

  The door pops open. It’s Tad again, that dumb polite smile still matted to his face. “Your coffee, miss.”

  He hands me a white mug – same as we use at home, standard issue – the familiar welcoming smell steaming from it. I glance from him, to the three hovering over Viv’s screen, and back again. I don’t even think they noticed him come in.

  “Thanks.”

  As I reach to take the cup, his hand lingers a moment too long. My fingers wrap over his, and he leaves behind a folded square of paper. I look to him, and his eyes widen ever so slightly. Enough to tell me that whatever is on that paper, it’s important. I close my palm over it. He gives the slightest nod, then turns to leave.

  “If you need anything else,” he says to the room, “you know where to find me.” He turns to give me a pointed look as he finishes. Then he leaves, closing the door behind him.

  “Here we go,” Viv says.

  Ronni and Charlie peer at Viv’s screen, all of them studying the information she’s pulled up.

  While they’re distracted, I shift my hold on the cup to make sure the entire paper is covered with my hand.

  “Okay… yes. Okay,” Viv drags with both hands over the screen, enlarging the form. “Did any of the family see the departed individual alive, on or after the departure date?”

  Ronni looks at me. I shake my head. “No.”

  “Are the family aware, by any other means, that the departure did not properly activate?”

  “No,” Ronni and Charlie say together.

  “Is there any possibility that another party, such as a neighbor, passer-by, or other individual, besides Departure Crew professionals, witnessed the non-departed individual alive on the designated departure date, or after?”

  “No,” they repeat. Ronni adds, “We were extremely cautious. We brought her out, and then into the building, in the bag.”

  Viv glances to the body bag crumpled in the corner. “Very good.”

  She pauses, her eyes tracking down the screen as she scrolls with her finger.

  “I need you both to complete a form about the incident by the end of the day. I’ll forward it to you.” She taps a few points on the screen, and Ronni and Charlie’s digipads ding on their wrists. “But otherwise, I’ve got it from here. Surely it goes without saying that you do not speak of this, not even to each other, ever again. And that’s it.”

  Viv nods. She’s regaining her composure quickly, and I’m grateful for it. I’m starting to feel a little better, now that someone seems to have a real plan for what to do, and the process is so simple.

  Ronni and Charlie move towards the door.

  “Well… good luck, kid,” Ronni says.

  Charlie gives me a quiet smile.

  “Don’t worry,” he says. “It’ll all be set right.”

  He means it to be comforting, but it makes my stomach twist. Will it? I thought this would be over by now, not just starting. That I’d take some sort of quick medical test, get a new date, and be taken back home.

  But what’s going to happen to me now? Why the secrecy?

  Ronni and Charlie leave, and I slip into one of the chairs. My hands clutch tightly to the cup, and the corners of Tad’s folded up paper scratch against my palm. What could be so important, and so secret, that Front Desk Tad could have to tell me?

  I’ve got to read it.

  I peer at Viv. She’s engrossed in her screen, perusing slowly, and everything settles into a quiet. I take a long, final chug of the coffee. It’s already getting cool, and every sip is more bitter than the last. Then I set the cup on the desk and push it away, tucking the paper into my fist.

  “Um…”

  Viv whips her head up abruptly.

  “Sorry. But I haven’t been able to use a restroom yet today. Can I…”

  “Oh! Certainly. Door’s right behind you.” Viv points, then turns back to her screen.

  “Thanks.”

  The bathroom is bright white and uncomfortably quiet, the only sound the dripping faucet. I lock myself in and peel the paper from my sticky palm while I relieve myself. Then I open the note up and spread it out against my leg.

  His writing is awful – thin scribbles, rushed and shaky. And who actually writes anymore? Where did he even get something to write with? MRRR, it says. Or MAAA? MAAR? MARA? MRAA? It is impossible to tell, and none of it means anything.

  Thank you, Front Desk Tad. What a help.

  I crumple the note into my hand to toss, and then on second thought, tear it into tiny pieces first. So much for that.

  At least I got to pee.

  I look at myself in the mirror as I wash my hands. The buzzing energy that’s tingled over my skin ever since I woke up begins to fade, and I’m thinking a little clearer – clear enough that I realize that I still look like I’ve just rolled out of bed. This is at least one thing I have a little control over, and I claim it with a vengeance.

  I use the wetness on my fingers to smooth down my disheveled blonde hair, then splash some water over my face. On second thought, I take another pump of soap and rub it into my face – the best I can do right now. I hate that waxy look my skin gets when I haven’t washed it. It brings out the stupid freckles that spatter across my cheeks and make me look like I’m still ten.

  There. I turn off the faucet and look myself over. It’s – well, it’s a little better.

  I push the door open and I step back into the room. Viv is gone. Then a hand grabs me and I almost cry out, but it’s only Front Desk Tad again.

  “Shit!” I pull my arm away. “What are you doing, hovering by the wall like that?”

  “Sorry, sorry,” he says. He wrings his hands and his eyes flicker towards the door. �
�Listen. If you go with them, you'll live. But life is totally different out there. It's not like in here.”

  In here? Out there? Them? I blink, trying to make sense of him. He stares at me, his eyes wide, like he is trying to bore the significance of his words into me.

  “What?”

  The office door opens and Viv returns. “Oh, Tad, there you are. There’s some people at the front desk.”

  Tad jumps away from me, rearranging his face into his polite front, and disappears into the hall.

  What was that?

  I shake my head and replay his words, trying to make sense of them. I can't. Did it really happen? Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe the serum is still messing with me.

  Viv is standing and hunched over her desk typing away, speaking into the delicate silver headpiece in her ear.

  “Yes. She’ll be ready.” She glances my way and types another note. Then she hangs up.

  “Specialists are on their way,” Viv says. “It won’t be long, sit tight.”

  She nods. And then she stands there a minute, her hands swinging. “Anything else you need, in the meantime?”

  My stomach growls. “I haven’t eaten anything yet.”

  “Oh.” Viv frowns. “I guess it’s been a strange morning for you.”

  You think, Viv? I hold back my sarcasm and smile at her, because I really, really want something to eat.

  Viv pulls the corners of her mouth up, forcing them into a strange smile of her own.

  “Well. I’ve got…” she makes a show of pulling back her sleeve to check her digipad, “Only a few minutes before I should catch up to a meeting. But I can show you to the food printer.”

  She leads me to the end of the hall. We turn a corner and step into an enclosed break space with a smooth eco-plastic counter, cabinets, and a food printer.

  She gestures to me to go ahead. I scan my digipad to the sensor and wait.

  The machine bleeps, and over the pad a message appears: INVALID READING. TRY AGAIN.

  I try two more times, but we’re both getting the picture.

  Departed people don’t eat.

  Viv frowns. “Oh. Well. Here, I guess we can…” She sticks her wrist out, hesitates, then pushes it against the sensor. “Given the circumstances,” she mutters.