In Skylar Christensen's America, Negative is good, Positive is bad. Only people with negative blood types are immune to the plagues that have swept the world. The viral mutation that turns others' blood to toxic poison leaves Negatives with enhanced senses and something far more sinister.There are no zombies in this apocalypse, but there are monsters here.
Skylar, like every Negative her age, undergoes military training after school. Patrolling for Hemogoblin blood gangs and Victims Army guerrillas. Life isn't so bad. Unlike Positives, Sky has a future. Hugo St. James changes that. Changes everything. Clever, handsome, Hugo. A positive blood type who probably won't survive the coming winter. A senior at her high school and suddenly very interested in her – for all the wrong reasons. With Hugo comes so many firsts: first crush, first kiss, first murder, first charge of high treason. Hugo forces Skylar into the traitorous world of illegal blood dealers, international conspiracies, and government-bred genetic mutations. Too late, she learns their families are bound by a history of blood and death. Plots and counterplots trap Sky in a trecherous web of murder and betrayal. Leaving honor behind, Sky must join the enemy if she wants to save herself and those she loves. |
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Plagued
by Eden Crowne
Copyright 2015. All rights reserved
Time Capsule essay
Skylar Christensen
English 303, Mrs. Schneider.
The apocalypse is actually not as bad as you might think. My mom says the world today is still recognizable as the world she grew up in. Quieter, of course. One half to two thirds of the population – depending on who's counting – wiped out in the blood plagues following the bird flu epidemics equals a lot of quiet.
Stupid birds.
There are no zombies in our apocalypse. Lots of corpses and empty cities and towns, but no walking dead. America has a government and electricity and sanitation and water, TV and the internet. Negatives are trying to make sure that doesn't change. No matter how much the Victim's Army and the Hemogoblin blood gangs might try. Redneck power!
That's what people call Negatives like me. Rednecks. The scarlet barcode tattooed on our necks once we reach sixteen and enter active duty marks us as 'safe'. We can go anywhere, even during the winter flu season. The only ones perfectly and completely immune. As such, we have a duty to our country. To serve and protect. Not just for the ten years of mandatory government or military work after high school, but always.
Civilization doesn't just rebuild itself, you know!
Unfortunately for the world, negatives are a single digit percent of the population, no matter the ethnicity.
Of course a lot of Positives survived the initial die offs. Some people have a natural immunity to viruses. Others are just really, really good at keeping their hands clean and wearing filters during the winter. Survival rates are way up now that the blood lottery is in place. Completely draining an infected person's blood and replacing it with clean blood cures the plague. The problem is, there's just not enough clean blood to go around. That's why we need the lottery. The lottery is a good thing.
Rednecks are trained and taught to serve their country, starting at thirteen with weapons handling and at fifteen, military tactical training. From sixteen, we go active. Active duty means HK's, Hunter Killer patrols. Blood has become the ultimate currency – that's what the news calls it – and there are people willing to kill to take it.
I hope that whoever digs up our time capsule lives in a world we helped to make better. Peace out!
Sky, this is much to general. They can read facts in the history books twenty years from now when they dig up the time capsule. Make it more personal. A real slice of your life. Put in some family anecdotes.
Mrs. S.
Chapter 1
New Blood
The body was tied to a tree; spread-eagled, arms wide. A bloody mess. Naked, deep cuts on the throat, wrists, and inner thighs. Sara Anne took one look and threw up. Which was not unusual, Sara Anne threw up on most patrols, body or no body.
Sky was okay. She knew he'd probably been dead before those wounds were inflicted. The Hemogoblin gangs would have drained him of every drop of blood before leaving the mutilated corpse to taunt the patrols and frighten civilians. To show everyone they weren't afraid of the Home Guard or Tactical Police.
Her squad scrambled after Control received an anonymous 911 call about a scarecrow in the University woods near the stadium. The team set up operations fast and quiet. They'd done this many times over the last six months.
Sergeant McNeil ordered Rickey in the mobile command van to send in a swarm of dragonfly shaped flybots. The tiny robots would scan for organics and explosives. Sky and the others fanned out, keeping about ten yards between them. Anonymous calls often came from the goblins themselves. They planted booby traps around the bodies and waited nearby to film the fun and slap it up on the Net.
The air surveillance 'bots swept the ground ahead as the squad moved forward. Their info was downloading to the screens on the right side of each helmet's visor. The 'bots were looking for heat signatures and formations that could mean pocket mines or trip wires.
Sky didn't watch the read-outs, using her eyes to search for heat flares that would mean a living body. Her level-up from the plague vaccine-- a side effect everyone with negative blood types experienced – had given her the ability to see far beyond the normal spectrum of light. Too far sometimes, she thought ruefully.
Sara Anne and Sky had been the first to reach the scarecrow.
Her eyes registered him as navy blue. Dead and gone. She and the flybots picked out two more bodies further on at almost the same time. They were an icy blue. That meant they hadn't been dead as long.
“Two more bodies at eleven o'clock from our position,” she radioed.
“''Bots have picked them up.” Rickey acknowledged. “Copy that.”
“Checking for infection” That was Chase, to her left.
Sky trotted over to his position. He had the scanner on one of the wounds. “Negative for infection, both of them. They're clean.” He clipped the scanner back on his belt. “This one's B positive, the other AB positive.”
Sergeant McNeil reached them, cursing long and loud. “Goddamn it.” He kicked at the dirt. “What a waste. Two uninfected human beings. We need every person we can get and those bastards just drain them. Bastards, bastards, bastards.”
It was true. The world needed repopulating. Every life lost affected all of them.
“Sir! Over here! I've got a breather.” Daphne, their Med Tech, waved several trees back and to the right. “Not a scarecrow. She's a Negative, but no barcode, sir. No immigration band, either.”
Sky looked towards Daphne and saw the warm pulse of yellow and orange next to Daphne's healthy red glow.
“Med team E.T.A. five minutes,” Rickey's voice came over their com.
“Copy that. Keep that Negative alive for intel, Daphne!”
“Do my best, sir!”
No code on a Negative meant Victims Army guerilla or a foreign infiltrator. Only American's wore the red code, and it was mandatory for all registered Negatives. Legal foreign visitors were issued a digital wristband with all their personal information when they passed through immigration.
Skylar's screen read-out flashed a proximity warning and the directional targeting in her helmet began to click. She tapped the motion tracker on her gun's screen and scanned it left and right ,waiting for the clicks to get faster and show her the direction.
“Two targets, Sarge.” They must be wearing some sort of stealth suit, neither of them was giving off any heat she could see. “In pursuit.”
The targets began to run and so did she.
The eucalyptus forest surrounding this side of the University was a good place to hide but not somewhere to slip out of silently. A thick layer of dead leaves and broken branches covered the forest floor, and every step was a snap, crackle, of sound. Sky could hear them a short way ahead; they were not even trying to hide their progress.
Another figure blipped on her screen. Looking up, she saw a red glow. No suit on that one.
Three now. Two in front, one following close. The clicks from her ear piece faded in and out as they ran between the close-set trees. They'd split soon. Either that or lead her into a trap.
“Christensen!” Sergeant McNeil's voice blared in her ear making her flinch. “Wait for back-up, Reynolds and Stephenson are behind you.”
If she waited for Daphne and Chase to catch up, she'd lose the goblins. The clicks in her ear were almost non-stop, she was practically on top of them; close enough to get a hit.
“Engaging target,” she said into her mic as she flicked her weapon to lock-on mode for motion seeking. It was after curfew. If anyone was in the forest beside goblins; they deserved what they got. The gunsight blinked green, and she fired four rounds in quick succession. They were just blips on a screen, she told herself. Hemogoblins are killers. Put them down.
There was a sharp cry and another and what sounded like a fall. Two lights blinked out. Two hits. One kept moving. The one without the suit.
“One active,” she called in. “Perp headed for University Drive. Pursuing.”
“Christensen hold your position!” She heard the words just before a hot red blur loomed out of the darkness, right on top of her. There was only enough time to think, 'wait, what?' before something slammed into the side of her helmet, knocking her to the ground.
Flat on her back, the world spun in slow motion.
Blinking, she saw a figure move to straddle her. Glowing brightly from heat to her enhanced vision. A big man wearing a thick parka. He had a jagged combat knife in one hand that glinted under the full moon. He was grinning. Skylar fumbled for her weapon, trying to bring it up, but she couldn't seem to get her fingers to do what she wanted. Skylar met his eyes and saw her death mirrored there.
He raised the knife and she couldn't breath. The weight on her chest was crushing the air out of her lungs. It was a heartbeat before she realized the man was on top of her. Instinctively she struggled. Punching at his face and windpipe before realizing he was struggling as well. Someone was on top of him. No wonder she couldn't breath. The weight shifted. Something hit her hard in the stomach, and she choked on the pain.
Indistinctly, she saw two figures tumbling together near her. Crashing back and forth. Or maybe they were standing still and the ground was moving. She couldn't focus. She was dizzy and couldn't think. There was cursing and a shot. Just one short, sharp burst.
A face loomed over her just as she finally managed to close her fingers around the gun grip. A different face. Boy? Man? The features fuzzy, blurred. He pushed the gun aside.
“Shh,” his voice was low, soothing. “Shh, don't be afraid.” He pulled off her helmet and ran a hand carefully over her head.
She yelped as he pushed on her temple. Everything started to spin, and she had to turn on her side to be seriously and thoroughly sick.
Branches snapped nearby. She reached for her gun.
A figure in tactical gear held up both hands. “Skylar! It's me, Daphne.”
“Where'd he go?” Her voice was hoarse from being sick; her throat burning.
Daphne knelt close, the leaves crackling under her combat boots. Gently pulling Skylar's eyes wider, she shone her penlight on each pupil. “Who?”
“The guy.”
Daphne looked to Sky's left, bringing up her little light. “There's a body there. You mean that one?” Without waiting for an answer, Daphne stood and prodded the body with her foot until she could kick it over. “Damn girl. You nailed him good. Right in the heart.”
While calling in her report and position to Sergeant McNeil, Daphne tugged at the body's clothing. “Full on Goblin bastard. Tattoos and everything. Jerk off.” Standing, she kicked the body hard.
“No, the boy...man. The one who saved me.”
Daphne used the light on her gunsight to illuminate the area.
“There is no other boy, Sky. Just you and the corpse.”
Chapter 2
Blood Simple
An hour later, Skylar sat on the 'release' side of the emergency room at University Hospital with an ice pack pressed to the side of her head. Sergeant McNeil insisted she get checked out. Less out of concern for her welfare than so he could yell at her for disobeying orders, Sky thought. She'd ridden to the hospital with him and the rogue Negative in the ambulance. He'd taken the opportunity to recount her failings several times.
A couple of injections and an I.V. took care of the nausea. Her helmet saved her from a concussion according to the MRI, leaving her with just a bad knock on the head. She knew the boy, whoever he was, saved her from much worse.
Still October, the ER was pretty quiet. Flu season wouldn't start until mid-November or later in California. She sighed, tired and sore and hungry. Her stomach growled noisily. The Sarge said he'd give her a ride home after he made sure the Negative was stabilized. Home meant dinner. Her stomach rumbled again.
The clean-room bell chimed, and the light above the heavy metal doors to the exit blinked from red to green. She watched as a tall boy in jeans and a denim shirt with a gray sweater tied around his waist, came out. His hair was tousled and damp from the air jets they zapped you with going in or coming out of the treatment areas. He had thick, wavy black hair, longer in front than at the back. He pushed it out of his eyes, blinking away the slight sting of disinfectant. He saw her watching and gave a quick, wide smile.
Sky dropped her eyes, staring at her combat boots. She recognized him from school. Hugo St. James, a Senior. He'd only transferred in a few of weeks ago. Hugo was already the talk of the school for his brains and his looks. He was AB positive. She knew that, too. She'd seen his bracelet. All positives wore blood I.D.s. That was a tough blood type. Before the plagues, AB could receive blood from any group. Now, once infected, they could only get transfusions from other AB types. Statistically speaking, there wasn't a lot of AB blood to spare.
She looked up, startled as he sat down next to her. There were several empty couches. He didn't have to sit here.
The plastic upholstery squeaked as he settled himself. Sky shifted a few inches to the left, her sidearm holster creaking, suddenly uncomfortable. She became very focused on readjusting the ice pack.
“Hi.”
Why was he talking to her?
“You go to Redwood High,” he said.
She nodded, still wondering why he was making conversation. Seniors and juniors didn't mix much either in Tactical or at Redwood High. Negative seniors thought themselves vastly superior to lower classmen because they were already learning to operate drone weaponry, jet packs, and heavy artillery. Plus, both Negative and Positive seniors got to plan Prom, which automatically made them more awesome.
He waved his hand to encompass her uniform and weapons. “I'm Hugo. I didn't realize you were a Redneck.”
Sky automatically reached to adjust the collar on her tactical suit. The narrow, red barcode tattooed around her neck identified her as a Negative. A member of the elite. The envy of every Positive. Immune to the plague. Then she remembered she was in full tactical gear with the same red barcode plastered across her chest, and put her hand down.
Idiot.
She might as well introduce herself. It would be weird no to. She cleared her throat, her mouth felt unaccountably dry. “Skylar Christensen.”
“How do you do.” He flashed her a quick smile and held out his hand.
She looked more carefully at him as she shook his hand. He smelled like blood. There was a smear of dark red on his trouser leg near the knee.
“You have blood on your pants,” she pointed with her other hand. “Are you hurt? You smell hurt.”
His eyes widened as though she'd surprised him. He covered it quickly, giving her another half smile.
Oh my, he had an a great smile. And a great mouth and cheekbones and chin.
“I smell hurt?” He bent forward so he could meet her eyes. “What does that even mean?”
'Oh my gawd, Skylar,' she yelled at herself. 'You just told him he smelled!'
“Oh. Um. Enhanced sense of smell,” her voice came out a little hoarse, and she cleared her throat again. “I can smell stuff.” She tapped her nose. “One of my level-ups from the blood mutation. You know.”
She looked at him for confirmation he understood, but he shook his head.
“Come on, everybody knows.”
“I'm British,” he said. “Perhaps things are different in England.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Really, really?” He was probably just having her on.
“Tell me,” he gave her another very charming smile – he seemed to possess rather a lot of charming smiles – crossed his legs and leaned a little closer.
Still looking for the hidden punchline, Sky explained the flu didn't kill Rednecks; it did change them. The Bird Flu vaccine gave everyone a light case of the flu. No matter what age you were vaccinated, afterward, things happened. 'Enhancements' the government liked to call them. 'Level up' was what she and all the other kids said. Their muscle development and sense of sight, hearing, smell, sound and even taste were magnified. Each person, however, leveled up again in their own individual way. Some of Sky's were not very explainable by science.
“I actually do know that. I meant, how did it change you.”
“Lots of ways.” She tapped her nose again. “My sense of smell is very acute. I smell when people are scared, or happy, or lying. Their body chemistry changes.”
He gave her a slightly strange look. “Okay. Did not know that was possible. That makes two things I've learned tonight.”
She glanced at the Clean Room light, hoping it would turn green. Come on, squad leader! To say she was uncomfortable sitting here in her flak suit with both her guns plus the electric blade strapped to her belt and her helmet at her feet, chatting to one of the most popular boys in all of Redwood High School was an understatement. She felt like a freak. Like she'd been caught playing soldier. She was a little shy with people she didn't know. Especially people who weren't Negatives. There was always too much underlying tension.
“You were hurt on patrol, obviously since you have all your gear. Not badly, I gather?'
She leaned into her ice pack. “Smacked on the head. I was lucky not to be killed.”
He sat back, relaxed, obviously waiting for her to ask a question back.
“Why do you have blood on you?”
He gave a little bark of laughter.
“I phrased that badly. Why are you here?”
“I was in the ER, talking to my Godmother Sydney. Must have brushed up against something or someone.”
“Your god mom's name is Sydney? Isn't that a guy's name?”
“She used to be a he and my godfather.” He leaned back on the squeaky, plastic couch, putting both hands up. “I don't judge people's life choices. He, I mean, she, likes Sydney and kept the name.”
He smiled more broadly. Sky felt the sides of her mouth stretch up of their own accord to match. She sat there grinning at him like an idiot. He cocked his head to one side, waiting for her to continue the conversation.
“So...you dropped by the ER to chat with your godmother/father? That seems kind of risky. You being AB and all, I mean.:.” She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. It wasn't polite to talk about people's blood types and speculate on their chances of survival in the next outbreak.
“I needed a transfusion, since you ask. I get them regularly as part of a new treatment program. So, Sydney took care of that. My dad is here.”
“Is he sick, too?”
He looked surprised. “What? Oh, I see what you mean. At the hospital and all. No, he's not sick. He's a geneticist. A very accomplished one. He's been asked to lecture and do some teaching here at the University. He did his residency right at this hospital, which is why I have godparents on this side of the Atlantic. And that is another reason I am in and out of this place all the time.” He indicated the hospital with a wave of his hand.
“I see.”
“Are your parents alive?”
She relaxed a little. That was a perfectly normal question.
“Dad is gone; my mom is fine. She's in the Persian Confederacy, working with the NATO oil cartel in the field there. She's a geological engineer specializing in oil drilling.”
“Good career choice. Since you're a Negative, odds are both your parents are as well. So he didn't die in the plagues, I assume.”
“No. PharmCon riots in Silicon Valley. I mean, Pharmacy Conspiracy riots.” He was English; he might not know. “More than ten years ago. He was a lawyer.”
“For the victims?”
“No. For the Pharmaceutical company, Bio-Exederm. When the VA stormed the company HQ, he was shot by an execution squad along with the executive directors.”
“Jeezus.” He put his hand on her arm.“That's rough. I'm sorry. You must hate the Victims Army people.”
She shook her head, uncomfortably aware of his hand, warm even through her tactical suit. “No. Not really. I was only five going on six. He went away one day and didn't come home. Everybody wants to blame someone. Besides, just because he worked for them didn't mean he believed the Pharms weren't complicit in keeping the virus going in the beginning. You know, focusing on treatment rather than cure. At least that's what my mom told me.”
“I like the theory they were in league with the old government to create plagues in the laboratory and release them for a New World Order and to create cheap oil.”
She shrugged and winced as the move scrunched up the sore spot on her head. “Even if they did. It's done now. No take-backs and the New World Order isn't that different than the Old World, is it?”
“You think so?” He dropped his hand to stare at her as though she'd said something really stupid. “Populations in Africa, the Middle East, Asia decimated. What are there? Ten, twenty million Chinese in China now? Iraq, Iran, and Saudi Arabia transformed to the Persian Confederacy of States, and America and the EU's best friend. That's not suspicious? Nuclear meltdowns in Russia, Japan and France that left thousands of miles of scorched earth. Ghost town after ghost town in America, Canada, England and Western Europe.” He spoke passionately, his hands clenched tightly together.
“You should keep your voice down.” Sky glanced around the waiting room. The only person near them was asleep with his head back on the couch and his mouth hanging open. “You don't want to be hauled in and fined for sedition.”
He took several deep breaths, flicking his eyes around the room with her. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“Besides, there's no going back. Only forward.”
“That's the party line. Forward, into the future.”
“Doesn't make it any less true. Nothing is going to bring back the way the world was. The only hope is for a cure.”
“Not for you. Negatives have a future. Negatives can't get sick. You're the new master race. Rebuilding the world in your image.”
He was trying not to sound jealous, but Sky was way too familiar with Positives to miss the underlying emotion behind the words. She bit her lip and got busy fiddling with some of the velcro fasteners on the flak vest with her free hand, pulling them open and closed and silently cursing herself for being so thoughtless. What could she say to that? Especially to an AB positive. It was a miracle he'd made it to his teens. This coming winter could be his last. So many had already died in the plagues. Even with the lottery, there just wasn't enough government blood for transfusions.
The couch creaked as he shifted his long legs and changed the subject. “How long have you been on active patrol?”
She moaned inwardly. Maybe she shouldn't answer. Maybe she should just get up and move to a different squeaky couch or pound on the Clean Room doors and shout for the Sergeant. It was pretty obvious he hated her for being a Redneck. She stayed where she was, despite the strong smell of the blood. Stayed because he had another scent beneath that bitter metallic taste. Something attractive and elusive that reached out to wrap itself around her senses. Like nothing she had ever encountered. She wanted to lean over and inhale him. That must be what was tying her tongue into knots, making her stumble with nervousness. The heat seeped up from her neck to her cheeks. She realized she was blushing.
“Are you blushing because you're angry? Perhaps I'm annoying you. Is that question inappropriate in America?”
“You're not annoying me and no; that question isn't inappropriate,” she hastened to correct him. “Um, let's see. Five, no, six months. Yeah. Six months.”
“Is it strange?”
His voice sounded sincere. Like he wanted to know what it was like four nights a week carrying a gun and patrolling her hometown with orders to shoot to kill after curfew.
“You know,” he pressed. “Chasing the Hemogoblins and shooting people.”
“They're not people,” she snapped.
The easy-going expression shifted to something else. Something harder.
“What I mean is,” she stumbled to a stop. What did she mean? She tried to think. She should tell him they were taught to shoot automatically at targets and dummies. Shoot accurately without question. Follow your C.O.'s orders. Not what she really thought. The shrinks would be on her in a minute if she said she coped by pretending it was a game. A role-playing game like she created in the park with her friends as a child. She'd had weapons and combat training since her twelfth birthday. Back then it was easy just to make it a game of soldiers and spies in her head, and she hadn't stopped.
Training was mandatory for all Negatives, plus she'd tested well for aggression. Even trainees needed to be prepared to be called for duty at any time. Luckily there hadn't been a full-scale riot on the West Coast since she came of age. Shooting Hemogoblin blood gangsters was one thing. Firing into a crowd of desperate civilians, she wasn't sure she could do that, no matter what the aggression tests said.
Anyway, he was a civilian. How could he understand the pressures she faced daily? What the government and her blood type gave her no choice to do. Protect and Serve. That was her duty from now until forever.
He was waiting for her to say more.
“Hemogoblins hunt people for their blood,” she explained. “Drain them dry or sell off their captives to illegal blood farms. They leave corpses from rival gangs to taunt us. The bodies are strapped to the trees or telephone poles or wherever. They call them scarecrows. It's horrible. Evil.” She met his eyes, “So, no, killing them on HK patrol is not weird. That's justice and I don't lose any sleep over them.”
“Have you killed any one else? By mistake?”
She looked at him, surprised. “That's a weird question.”
“Hugo!”
They both started. Neither of them had noticed the man's approach. He laid one hand on the boy's shoulder. “Sorry, I kept you waiting. Let's go.”
The man had a beautiful, clipped way of speaking. Just like Hugo. He was tall, and his curly gray hair hung over his ears and forehead. Definitely good looking; with classical features: high cheekbones, broad forehead, and cloudy gray-blue eyes. Hugo looked a lot like him, except for the hair.
“That's okay, Dad.” He stood and turned towards his father. “This is a classmate from Redwood High. She was injured tonight chasing a gang of Hemogoblins. Right near here, in the eucalyptus forest.”
The man didn't even glance at her. “You're doing a good job soldier. We appreciate it.” With that, he walked to the sliding glass doors leading to the parking lot.
Hugo smiled. “Nice talking to you at last, Sky. I must be awfully preoccupied not to have noticed you before.”
She felt her cheeks flush again. Was he flirting with her? What the hell?
“See you at school.” Hugo took a few steps backward, his eyes flicking from her face to someplace at her feet. “Oh, and I like your dog. He's beautiful. Were you able to get him in because you're Tactical? They usually don't let pets in the hospital. What's his name?”
“A..Alex,” she stammered.
“Hugo!” his father called sharply.
She stared at him, her mouth open.
Stared while he jogged over to his father and left.
Stared at the sliding doors until Staff Sergeant McNeil came out and barked her name.
Hugo couldn't have seen her dog.
Nobody could except her.
That's because her dog was dead, a ghost. And only Sky could see him.
Chapter 3
Blood Ties
The motor pool driver let her out in front of the little two-story house on Waverly Road. Aunt Eloise's house. This is where she lived when her mom was away. She was tired, her head ached despite the pain killers from the hospital. There was reading to do for History and English, but all she could think about was Hugo. What he said at the end of their conversation. About seeing her dog.
Alex, her little Shetland Sheepdog, had been dead over a year.
The flu did change Rednecks, just as she had told him. Sometimes those changes couldn't be explained by science. Sky's enhanced sense of sight went far beyond just invisible light spectrums. She saw ghosts. Only animals so far. Alex had been with her since the day he died. Not every moment of every day. Often, though. Especially when she was tired or stressed.
The funny thing was, her aunt saw ghosts, too.
The little electric sign on the carport roof for 'Eloise Edwards, Psychic Consultant,' clicked off as Sky dragged herself up the front walk. Her aunt must have been working late as well. Peering through the metaphysical fog and paranormal ether for her clients. Her aunt Eloise was a psychic. For animals, not humans. And the psychic pet business was booming.
People had become very attached to their pets since the plagues. Obsessively so. Dogs and cats were immune to the flu. Unlike parents, children, friends, and family, they did not die off every winter. People became more and more dependent on animals for emotional comfort as the world fell to pieces. Eloise helped clients get in touch with pets that had passed on. She'd been doing it before the plagues. Since the die-off, business had increased exponentially.
Sky let herself in through the front door. Unlike many homes, they didn't need a curtained alcove to strip out of street clothes – full of possible virus germs – mist themselves down and change into home clothes. Eloise had a unit like that for the annex holding her office. That was mandatory, a city ordinance for all places of business.
“Hi, sweetie!” Eloise came out from the little hall that led to the other side of the house. An addition she'd had built on for her work. Tricia, her apricot poodle, bounded ahead, dancing around Skylar on her hind feet, begging to be petted. Eloise was wearing a knee-length beige tunic sweater over black leggings and little black loafers. This was her preferred style of dress when exploring the psychic realm with clients.
Her aunt stopped halfway to the door, giving Sky a searching glance. “What happened? You're hurt. I can tell. Come here,” she stretched out her arms.
Dropping the heavy black duffle bag on the carpet, Skylar walked over. As a member of the Guard, she was required to keep her weapons at home or school when not on patrol. Every Redneck did the same from sixteen on. Wrapping her arms around her aunt, she let herself relax for the first time all day.
Aunt Eloise was not a large woman, but she gave big, satisfying hugs.
She pulled Sky into the living room with Tricia dancing around them. It was an old house updated just before the plagues when Eloise and her husband moved in with their two small boys. Two floors, four bedrooms. The living and dining rooms flowed together in an open plan and a wide counter with seating on one side bordered the roomy eat-in kitchen. Through the kitchen, a laundry room at the back opened onto a side patio and access to the carport. When Eloise added the little office annex for her psychic business, they built a sliding door into the dining room that blended right into the wall when it was closed.
It was a very lived-in, comfortable house with oversized sofa and side chairs and big, worn Persian carpets over the hardwood floors. Classic, hand-colored bird and flower etchings decorated the walls. Tonight there was a fire in the fireplace. Though the days were warm, evenings got chilly in October. Eloise pushed her down on the deep couch and headed for the kitchen. Tricia was overjoyed to finally reach Sky's cheeks for some serious doggy kissing.
“I've got a yummy beef stew, lots of veggies,” she said over her shoulder. “Big, soft rolls for dipping. I waited for you.”
“Aunt Eloise, you didn't have to do that! Look at the time.”
She peeked around the corner and blew her a kiss. “Meals are better shared. Do you want to change into your old moldies or eat in your uniform?”
“Gosh, yes! Old moldies for me.”She jumped off the couch. “Back in a flash.”
'Old moldies' was a code phrase of Eloise and Sky's mom for their most comfortable at-home clothing. For Sky, that meant a pair of thick, fleece, snowflake-patterned pajama bottoms, an old purple t-shirt that said, 'I think you're wonderful,' in block letters on the front, and an oversized fleece navy-blue hoodie. The hoodie made her look fat, but she didn't care. Who would see? Because of the enhanced muscle development, 'willowy' was not a term that described most Redneck girls. She was slim but strong.
Her bruised temple was giving off sharp little pulses of pain. Washing her face and hands, she pulled off the tight band that kept her hair in the required ponytail, letting it fall loose over her shoulders to hang halfway down her back. That felt good. Her thick, light- brown hair was always a tight fit in her helmet. There was no way she was cutting it short. As a patriot, Sky was prepared to give up a lot for her country, just not her hair.
She examined her face in the bathroom mirror. A dark stain was already spreading across her skin by the hairline. That was going to make a nasty bruise. Still, nothing some concealer and foundation couldn't fix. Since all Negatives were in Tactical at school, everyone was used to seeing each other in less than mint condition. She'd grab a quick shower before bed. It was great now that water rationing was done and you could bathe any time. Until a couple of years ago, water and power went off at ten p.m. The night seemed quiet now without the chug chug of portable diesel generators people used to keep their freezers frosty. She'd fallen asleep to that sound for years.
Over dinner, sitting at the big walnut maple table with the matching captains chairs, she told her aunt what happened on patrol. Eloise's boys were both grown and out of the house. Graduates of Tactical, as was her aunt back in the day. She knew the realities of HK. Still did. Like every other Negative, she remained a member of the Home Guard Reserve after finishing active duty. Men and women fifty and over took turns on Neighborhood Watch, helping Tactical with patrols after curfew.
When Sky got to the part about being smashed over the head, Eloise got up, came around the table, and hugged her again.
Something caught Sky's eye as her aunt sat down.
“Who was here today?”
Eloise followed her stare. “Who wasn't? I had at least ten appointments. The last was a woman. She lost a...”
“Dachshund?” Sky finished.
“That's exactly right. I gather the spirit didn't go home with her when she left?”
“Nope. Just ran into the kitchen. Maybe Alex will find it.” Eloise could talk to animal spirits. She couldn't always see them. Which was kind of ironic, since Sky could see but not hear her dog. “Oh, that reminds me.”
She explained about the boy in the waiting room and how he had seen the spirit of her dead dog.
“Did he know Alex was just a ghost?”
She shook her head. “Didn't seem to. He acted like Alex was real.” She motioned for Eloise to keep seated. “I'll clear the table. How is that possible for him, I mean, to see that?”
Her aunt laughed. “You do realize ghosts and the people who communicate with them have been around a lot longer than the plagues. Just look at me!”
Sky's enhancement forced her to see through so many spectrums of light. Too many. Scales even animals couldn't register, like the after image of sound waves. Her friends had called her 'Bat girl' when that one developed. Even though they were only joking, Sky just lost it once when she was twelve and started crying. They never called her that again because they really were her friends.
There were other patterns she sometimes saw. Oscillating ones in black and white, things the doctors hadn't even been able to identify fully yet. The only way she kept her sanity when not on patrol was by wearing contact lenses that blocked all but the most standard light waves. Though nothing blocked the animal ghost visions. She took the lenses out on patrol but had to take motion sickness medicine when she did. Her enhancements matured slowly, which meant she still had difficulty some days putting everything together into a coherent picture.
Ghosts were a by product of her crazy new vision. Alex was the first. She'd seen him get on the Tactical van the very first day after his death. Seen him as clear as day as he jumped on board and curled up under her seat.
She didn't really think of that particular enhancement as supernatural. Like horror story ghosts or something. They were energy signatures that had gotten stuck. That's how the Psych techs at Tactical explained it during counseling sessions for new recruits. Another spectrum of light that most people and instruments could not fine-tune their vision to see.
The ability was a link to her aunt and her mom's family line. Sky hoped that would not become any stronger as she grew older. Escalating from animal ghosts to people ghosts. That would be awful. The spectral world had to be overflowing with human ghosts from the plagues. Spirits or energy or whatever they were who didn't know how to move on.
She started to wash the dishes. Eloise still had her old dishwasher; no one used them anymore. They wasted too much water. “Yes, of course, people have been able to see this spectrum forever. It's just that nowadays, the whole ghost thing seems to center around Negatives rather than Positives.”
“Is he a Negative?”
“No. I've seen his wristband. Azure. AB positive. It should be red by now, as a survivor, or if he won the lottery.”
“Or he should be dead. Very rare to make it to high school without developing the blood plague.”
“Maybe he has. His dad is giving him transfusions at the hospital. He's a doctor or something. Visiting from England.”
Her Aunt walked over to the sink and leaned against the counter. “From England you say? A doctor working with blood?”
Sky set the big pot to dry separately on a dishtowel. “I'm not sure about the blood part. Definitely from England though, I heard the accent.”
“Well, isn't that interesting.”
Something in her aunt's tone of voice made Sky look at her. Eloise was staring at the wall, frowning.
“Is..is there something I should know?” Sky asked.
“What? Oh. No, no. Just thinking about the boy. Perhaps his ghostly ability is natural. Like the psychics of old. Come on,” she pulled Sky away from the sink. “let's watch TV. Will Smith is going to be on the Tonight Show. Can't miss that!”
Sky brought her laptop and curled up on the nubby turquoise wool couch with one of the plaid fleece throws wrapped around her, a nest of throw pillows and the TV on. Maximilien, the Maine Coon, finally made an appearance. He belonged to her cousin Anthony, Eloise's older boy, currently in London for work. Oozing out from under the couch in that semi-liquid state cats seemed able to achieve, he jumped up on Sky's lap and settled in. She studied and watched the rerun of the Tonight Show.
Well, they were reruns to her aunt. For Sky and others of her generation, everything old was new again. Hollywood had been as hard hit as any other industry by the plague. It wasn't just the stars who died. Those were easily replaceable. There are always pretty people, even in the worst of times. Unfortunately, the plagues took most of the technicians, camera people, lighting specialists, and scriptwriters along with them. Cable TV was a thing of the past. America was back to three major networks – which, apparently, nothing could kill – PBS and some local access.
Some years before, the networks and remaining movie companies banded together for an agreement to synchronize prime time broadcasts and major movie releases for a specific year. Radio and the music business did the same. Since they couldn't market new artists, they just re-packaged the old ones. Scheduling releases as though they were happening for the first time. Her mom couldn't believe that teens today were watching the exact same celebrities and TV shows she had at their age. Right now everyone was excited for the release of the SciFi action film, Independence Day, starring Will Smith – event though it was coming out for Thanksgiving instead of Fourth of July. Aunt Eloise said that was when the film was released when she was a kid.
The ghost of Alex engaged Tricia in a game of tag. As appropriate for a dog of a pet psychic, Tricia had no trouble interacting with spectral Alex. Which was nice for both of them. Weiner dog ghost watched shyly from under an end table.
Sky missed her mom. If she couldn't be with her, though, Aunt Eloise was a great stand in. She was a little older than Sky's mom. They looked a lot alike though, around five foot five, sill slim, fair skinned with bright blue eyes. Her mom's hair was more brown than red, Eloise's the opposite. She wore it in a fluffy pageboy turned up at the ends. Sky had never met her uncle. His name was Bernard or Benjamin or something with a 'B'. Eloise divorced him long ago, keeping his last name because she said she liked the sound of it, Eloise Edwards. Her two sons were both Negatives since, whatever his failings, her ex-husband was another O-type, just by chance, in those happy, carefree days before the bird flu. Both boys were in government service. Derick, the younger, a diplomat and Sky's inspiration for her career plans. They were married and had kids themselves.
Negatives were encouraged to have children early, married or not. Women – any woman, not just Negatives – were entitled to generous subsidies and childcare. The childcare was to keep them in the work force. Industry and business could only be automated to a certain degree. The world needed people. Lots of people. But at the same time, it couldn't spare workers. Even Eloise spent six hours a day, three days a week, at the power plant in Mountain View, working on the power grid allotment boards. The self-employed, those who had finished their service or were too old for the draft, were required to contribute eighteen hours a week to general welfare businesses like power, water, sanitation, and infrastructure. Other workers only had to volunteer two, four-hour shifts a week.
The show was interrupted by a live segment on the upcoming Coronation. The world was excited. England was going to crown a new monarch. A prince had been found from the Tudor line. Well, they'd made him a prince. Many Tudor descendants carried the Rh negative strain. Or so the news said. England had been without a monarch for nearly three years. Now, that would change. It was just the sort of feel good story the media could fasten on. Every person with a television knew about young Prince Philip, soon to be King Philip. Only nineteen. Never going to set the world on fire with his keen understanding, but who cared? He was handsome and personable and single.
The Coronation was set for November first. Celebrations were planned all over America. England, after all, was one of their closest allies. Palo Alto was hosting a public Fan Fest on the first with big screens set up downtown, entertainment, food, and fireworks in the evening.
Even Sky had a t-shirt emblazoned with the Barbary Lion statues from the National Gallery, the British flag, and Philip's name. Eloise bought it for her at the Farmer's Market. Both of them listened raptly to the update. Chattering about who would eventually become his queen.
Once it finished, Eloise asked, “Did you talk to your mom today?”
“No. Time zone drama. We texted though. She says it is never not hot in New Persia and she is tired of sweating.”
“What about Kara?”
Sky glanced up. “No, again. Captain America and I have not talked for awhile, which is fine by me.”
She expected a rebuke from her aunt. Kara was her only sibling and sisters are supposed to love each other.
Instead, her aunt sighed. “She is an egotistical pain in the butt. It's not just me, right?”
“Totally!” Sky agreed.
Captain Kara Christensen was much too busy with her ambitions to be bothered engaging in casual chats with her little sister. At twenty, she was one of the youngest Captains in the regiment and the girl planned on making major before she was thirty. She certainly looked the part. Tall, blond, with striking good looks, long legs, and perfect proportions. It wasn't that Sky didn't love her, she did. Only Kara loved herself a lot more. When Mom – her personal cheering squad – wasn't around, Kara had little interest in coming home. Apparently Sky's ego-massaging skills were inadequate.
Maybe if they'd had similar interests it would have been different. Sky thought of herself as an introverted-extrovert or an extroverted-introvert depending on the day. She needed just a couple of close friends, video games, music, movies, and at least one TV series to fixate on and she was a happy girl.
Kara was exhaustingly social. Zeroing in on how each person could serve her needs. Connections, not companions. At least that was Sky's take on it.
Kara didn't need Sky and she didn't need Kara, and Sky was okay with that.
In fact, all she really wanted to think about right now was the very delicious Hugo St. James.
by Eden Crowne
Copyright 2015. All rights reserved
Time Capsule essay
Skylar Christensen
English 303, Mrs. Schneider.
The apocalypse is actually not as bad as you might think. My mom says the world today is still recognizable as the world she grew up in. Quieter, of course. One half to two thirds of the population – depending on who's counting – wiped out in the blood plagues following the bird flu epidemics equals a lot of quiet.
Stupid birds.
There are no zombies in our apocalypse. Lots of corpses and empty cities and towns, but no walking dead. America has a government and electricity and sanitation and water, TV and the internet. Negatives are trying to make sure that doesn't change. No matter how much the Victim's Army and the Hemogoblin blood gangs might try. Redneck power!
That's what people call Negatives like me. Rednecks. The scarlet barcode tattooed on our necks once we reach sixteen and enter active duty marks us as 'safe'. We can go anywhere, even during the winter flu season. The only ones perfectly and completely immune. As such, we have a duty to our country. To serve and protect. Not just for the ten years of mandatory government or military work after high school, but always.
Civilization doesn't just rebuild itself, you know!
Unfortunately for the world, negatives are a single digit percent of the population, no matter the ethnicity.
Of course a lot of Positives survived the initial die offs. Some people have a natural immunity to viruses. Others are just really, really good at keeping their hands clean and wearing filters during the winter. Survival rates are way up now that the blood lottery is in place. Completely draining an infected person's blood and replacing it with clean blood cures the plague. The problem is, there's just not enough clean blood to go around. That's why we need the lottery. The lottery is a good thing.
Rednecks are trained and taught to serve their country, starting at thirteen with weapons handling and at fifteen, military tactical training. From sixteen, we go active. Active duty means HK's, Hunter Killer patrols. Blood has become the ultimate currency – that's what the news calls it – and there are people willing to kill to take it.
I hope that whoever digs up our time capsule lives in a world we helped to make better. Peace out!
Sky, this is much to general. They can read facts in the history books twenty years from now when they dig up the time capsule. Make it more personal. A real slice of your life. Put in some family anecdotes.
Mrs. S.
Chapter 1
New Blood
The body was tied to a tree; spread-eagled, arms wide. A bloody mess. Naked, deep cuts on the throat, wrists, and inner thighs. Sara Anne took one look and threw up. Which was not unusual, Sara Anne threw up on most patrols, body or no body.
Sky was okay. She knew he'd probably been dead before those wounds were inflicted. The Hemogoblin gangs would have drained him of every drop of blood before leaving the mutilated corpse to taunt the patrols and frighten civilians. To show everyone they weren't afraid of the Home Guard or Tactical Police.
Her squad scrambled after Control received an anonymous 911 call about a scarecrow in the University woods near the stadium. The team set up operations fast and quiet. They'd done this many times over the last six months.
Sergeant McNeil ordered Rickey in the mobile command van to send in a swarm of dragonfly shaped flybots. The tiny robots would scan for organics and explosives. Sky and the others fanned out, keeping about ten yards between them. Anonymous calls often came from the goblins themselves. They planted booby traps around the bodies and waited nearby to film the fun and slap it up on the Net.
The air surveillance 'bots swept the ground ahead as the squad moved forward. Their info was downloading to the screens on the right side of each helmet's visor. The 'bots were looking for heat signatures and formations that could mean pocket mines or trip wires.
Sky didn't watch the read-outs, using her eyes to search for heat flares that would mean a living body. Her level-up from the plague vaccine-- a side effect everyone with negative blood types experienced – had given her the ability to see far beyond the normal spectrum of light. Too far sometimes, she thought ruefully.
Sara Anne and Sky had been the first to reach the scarecrow.
Her eyes registered him as navy blue. Dead and gone. She and the flybots picked out two more bodies further on at almost the same time. They were an icy blue. That meant they hadn't been dead as long.
“Two more bodies at eleven o'clock from our position,” she radioed.
“''Bots have picked them up.” Rickey acknowledged. “Copy that.”
“Checking for infection” That was Chase, to her left.
Sky trotted over to his position. He had the scanner on one of the wounds. “Negative for infection, both of them. They're clean.” He clipped the scanner back on his belt. “This one's B positive, the other AB positive.”
Sergeant McNeil reached them, cursing long and loud. “Goddamn it.” He kicked at the dirt. “What a waste. Two uninfected human beings. We need every person we can get and those bastards just drain them. Bastards, bastards, bastards.”
It was true. The world needed repopulating. Every life lost affected all of them.
“Sir! Over here! I've got a breather.” Daphne, their Med Tech, waved several trees back and to the right. “Not a scarecrow. She's a Negative, but no barcode, sir. No immigration band, either.”
Sky looked towards Daphne and saw the warm pulse of yellow and orange next to Daphne's healthy red glow.
“Med team E.T.A. five minutes,” Rickey's voice came over their com.
“Copy that. Keep that Negative alive for intel, Daphne!”
“Do my best, sir!”
No code on a Negative meant Victims Army guerilla or a foreign infiltrator. Only American's wore the red code, and it was mandatory for all registered Negatives. Legal foreign visitors were issued a digital wristband with all their personal information when they passed through immigration.
Skylar's screen read-out flashed a proximity warning and the directional targeting in her helmet began to click. She tapped the motion tracker on her gun's screen and scanned it left and right ,waiting for the clicks to get faster and show her the direction.
“Two targets, Sarge.” They must be wearing some sort of stealth suit, neither of them was giving off any heat she could see. “In pursuit.”
The targets began to run and so did she.
The eucalyptus forest surrounding this side of the University was a good place to hide but not somewhere to slip out of silently. A thick layer of dead leaves and broken branches covered the forest floor, and every step was a snap, crackle, of sound. Sky could hear them a short way ahead; they were not even trying to hide their progress.
Another figure blipped on her screen. Looking up, she saw a red glow. No suit on that one.
Three now. Two in front, one following close. The clicks from her ear piece faded in and out as they ran between the close-set trees. They'd split soon. Either that or lead her into a trap.
“Christensen!” Sergeant McNeil's voice blared in her ear making her flinch. “Wait for back-up, Reynolds and Stephenson are behind you.”
If she waited for Daphne and Chase to catch up, she'd lose the goblins. The clicks in her ear were almost non-stop, she was practically on top of them; close enough to get a hit.
“Engaging target,” she said into her mic as she flicked her weapon to lock-on mode for motion seeking. It was after curfew. If anyone was in the forest beside goblins; they deserved what they got. The gunsight blinked green, and she fired four rounds in quick succession. They were just blips on a screen, she told herself. Hemogoblins are killers. Put them down.
There was a sharp cry and another and what sounded like a fall. Two lights blinked out. Two hits. One kept moving. The one without the suit.
“One active,” she called in. “Perp headed for University Drive. Pursuing.”
“Christensen hold your position!” She heard the words just before a hot red blur loomed out of the darkness, right on top of her. There was only enough time to think, 'wait, what?' before something slammed into the side of her helmet, knocking her to the ground.
Flat on her back, the world spun in slow motion.
Blinking, she saw a figure move to straddle her. Glowing brightly from heat to her enhanced vision. A big man wearing a thick parka. He had a jagged combat knife in one hand that glinted under the full moon. He was grinning. Skylar fumbled for her weapon, trying to bring it up, but she couldn't seem to get her fingers to do what she wanted. Skylar met his eyes and saw her death mirrored there.
He raised the knife and she couldn't breath. The weight on her chest was crushing the air out of her lungs. It was a heartbeat before she realized the man was on top of her. Instinctively she struggled. Punching at his face and windpipe before realizing he was struggling as well. Someone was on top of him. No wonder she couldn't breath. The weight shifted. Something hit her hard in the stomach, and she choked on the pain.
Indistinctly, she saw two figures tumbling together near her. Crashing back and forth. Or maybe they were standing still and the ground was moving. She couldn't focus. She was dizzy and couldn't think. There was cursing and a shot. Just one short, sharp burst.
A face loomed over her just as she finally managed to close her fingers around the gun grip. A different face. Boy? Man? The features fuzzy, blurred. He pushed the gun aside.
“Shh,” his voice was low, soothing. “Shh, don't be afraid.” He pulled off her helmet and ran a hand carefully over her head.
She yelped as he pushed on her temple. Everything started to spin, and she had to turn on her side to be seriously and thoroughly sick.
Branches snapped nearby. She reached for her gun.
A figure in tactical gear held up both hands. “Skylar! It's me, Daphne.”
“Where'd he go?” Her voice was hoarse from being sick; her throat burning.
Daphne knelt close, the leaves crackling under her combat boots. Gently pulling Skylar's eyes wider, she shone her penlight on each pupil. “Who?”
“The guy.”
Daphne looked to Sky's left, bringing up her little light. “There's a body there. You mean that one?” Without waiting for an answer, Daphne stood and prodded the body with her foot until she could kick it over. “Damn girl. You nailed him good. Right in the heart.”
While calling in her report and position to Sergeant McNeil, Daphne tugged at the body's clothing. “Full on Goblin bastard. Tattoos and everything. Jerk off.” Standing, she kicked the body hard.
“No, the boy...man. The one who saved me.”
Daphne used the light on her gunsight to illuminate the area.
“There is no other boy, Sky. Just you and the corpse.”
Chapter 2
Blood Simple
An hour later, Skylar sat on the 'release' side of the emergency room at University Hospital with an ice pack pressed to the side of her head. Sergeant McNeil insisted she get checked out. Less out of concern for her welfare than so he could yell at her for disobeying orders, Sky thought. She'd ridden to the hospital with him and the rogue Negative in the ambulance. He'd taken the opportunity to recount her failings several times.
A couple of injections and an I.V. took care of the nausea. Her helmet saved her from a concussion according to the MRI, leaving her with just a bad knock on the head. She knew the boy, whoever he was, saved her from much worse.
Still October, the ER was pretty quiet. Flu season wouldn't start until mid-November or later in California. She sighed, tired and sore and hungry. Her stomach growled noisily. The Sarge said he'd give her a ride home after he made sure the Negative was stabilized. Home meant dinner. Her stomach rumbled again.
The clean-room bell chimed, and the light above the heavy metal doors to the exit blinked from red to green. She watched as a tall boy in jeans and a denim shirt with a gray sweater tied around his waist, came out. His hair was tousled and damp from the air jets they zapped you with going in or coming out of the treatment areas. He had thick, wavy black hair, longer in front than at the back. He pushed it out of his eyes, blinking away the slight sting of disinfectant. He saw her watching and gave a quick, wide smile.
Sky dropped her eyes, staring at her combat boots. She recognized him from school. Hugo St. James, a Senior. He'd only transferred in a few of weeks ago. Hugo was already the talk of the school for his brains and his looks. He was AB positive. She knew that, too. She'd seen his bracelet. All positives wore blood I.D.s. That was a tough blood type. Before the plagues, AB could receive blood from any group. Now, once infected, they could only get transfusions from other AB types. Statistically speaking, there wasn't a lot of AB blood to spare.
She looked up, startled as he sat down next to her. There were several empty couches. He didn't have to sit here.
The plastic upholstery squeaked as he settled himself. Sky shifted a few inches to the left, her sidearm holster creaking, suddenly uncomfortable. She became very focused on readjusting the ice pack.
“Hi.”
Why was he talking to her?
“You go to Redwood High,” he said.
She nodded, still wondering why he was making conversation. Seniors and juniors didn't mix much either in Tactical or at Redwood High. Negative seniors thought themselves vastly superior to lower classmen because they were already learning to operate drone weaponry, jet packs, and heavy artillery. Plus, both Negative and Positive seniors got to plan Prom, which automatically made them more awesome.
He waved his hand to encompass her uniform and weapons. “I'm Hugo. I didn't realize you were a Redneck.”
Sky automatically reached to adjust the collar on her tactical suit. The narrow, red barcode tattooed around her neck identified her as a Negative. A member of the elite. The envy of every Positive. Immune to the plague. Then she remembered she was in full tactical gear with the same red barcode plastered across her chest, and put her hand down.
Idiot.
She might as well introduce herself. It would be weird no to. She cleared her throat, her mouth felt unaccountably dry. “Skylar Christensen.”
“How do you do.” He flashed her a quick smile and held out his hand.
She looked more carefully at him as she shook his hand. He smelled like blood. There was a smear of dark red on his trouser leg near the knee.
“You have blood on your pants,” she pointed with her other hand. “Are you hurt? You smell hurt.”
His eyes widened as though she'd surprised him. He covered it quickly, giving her another half smile.
Oh my, he had an a great smile. And a great mouth and cheekbones and chin.
“I smell hurt?” He bent forward so he could meet her eyes. “What does that even mean?”
'Oh my gawd, Skylar,' she yelled at herself. 'You just told him he smelled!'
“Oh. Um. Enhanced sense of smell,” her voice came out a little hoarse, and she cleared her throat again. “I can smell stuff.” She tapped her nose. “One of my level-ups from the blood mutation. You know.”
She looked at him for confirmation he understood, but he shook his head.
“Come on, everybody knows.”
“I'm British,” he said. “Perhaps things are different in England.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Really, really?” He was probably just having her on.
“Tell me,” he gave her another very charming smile – he seemed to possess rather a lot of charming smiles – crossed his legs and leaned a little closer.
Still looking for the hidden punchline, Sky explained the flu didn't kill Rednecks; it did change them. The Bird Flu vaccine gave everyone a light case of the flu. No matter what age you were vaccinated, afterward, things happened. 'Enhancements' the government liked to call them. 'Level up' was what she and all the other kids said. Their muscle development and sense of sight, hearing, smell, sound and even taste were magnified. Each person, however, leveled up again in their own individual way. Some of Sky's were not very explainable by science.
“I actually do know that. I meant, how did it change you.”
“Lots of ways.” She tapped her nose again. “My sense of smell is very acute. I smell when people are scared, or happy, or lying. Their body chemistry changes.”
He gave her a slightly strange look. “Okay. Did not know that was possible. That makes two things I've learned tonight.”
She glanced at the Clean Room light, hoping it would turn green. Come on, squad leader! To say she was uncomfortable sitting here in her flak suit with both her guns plus the electric blade strapped to her belt and her helmet at her feet, chatting to one of the most popular boys in all of Redwood High School was an understatement. She felt like a freak. Like she'd been caught playing soldier. She was a little shy with people she didn't know. Especially people who weren't Negatives. There was always too much underlying tension.
“You were hurt on patrol, obviously since you have all your gear. Not badly, I gather?'
She leaned into her ice pack. “Smacked on the head. I was lucky not to be killed.”
He sat back, relaxed, obviously waiting for her to ask a question back.
“Why do you have blood on you?”
He gave a little bark of laughter.
“I phrased that badly. Why are you here?”
“I was in the ER, talking to my Godmother Sydney. Must have brushed up against something or someone.”
“Your god mom's name is Sydney? Isn't that a guy's name?”
“She used to be a he and my godfather.” He leaned back on the squeaky, plastic couch, putting both hands up. “I don't judge people's life choices. He, I mean, she, likes Sydney and kept the name.”
He smiled more broadly. Sky felt the sides of her mouth stretch up of their own accord to match. She sat there grinning at him like an idiot. He cocked his head to one side, waiting for her to continue the conversation.
“So...you dropped by the ER to chat with your godmother/father? That seems kind of risky. You being AB and all, I mean.:.” She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. It wasn't polite to talk about people's blood types and speculate on their chances of survival in the next outbreak.
“I needed a transfusion, since you ask. I get them regularly as part of a new treatment program. So, Sydney took care of that. My dad is here.”
“Is he sick, too?”
He looked surprised. “What? Oh, I see what you mean. At the hospital and all. No, he's not sick. He's a geneticist. A very accomplished one. He's been asked to lecture and do some teaching here at the University. He did his residency right at this hospital, which is why I have godparents on this side of the Atlantic. And that is another reason I am in and out of this place all the time.” He indicated the hospital with a wave of his hand.
“I see.”
“Are your parents alive?”
She relaxed a little. That was a perfectly normal question.
“Dad is gone; my mom is fine. She's in the Persian Confederacy, working with the NATO oil cartel in the field there. She's a geological engineer specializing in oil drilling.”
“Good career choice. Since you're a Negative, odds are both your parents are as well. So he didn't die in the plagues, I assume.”
“No. PharmCon riots in Silicon Valley. I mean, Pharmacy Conspiracy riots.” He was English; he might not know. “More than ten years ago. He was a lawyer.”
“For the victims?”
“No. For the Pharmaceutical company, Bio-Exederm. When the VA stormed the company HQ, he was shot by an execution squad along with the executive directors.”
“Jeezus.” He put his hand on her arm.“That's rough. I'm sorry. You must hate the Victims Army people.”
She shook her head, uncomfortably aware of his hand, warm even through her tactical suit. “No. Not really. I was only five going on six. He went away one day and didn't come home. Everybody wants to blame someone. Besides, just because he worked for them didn't mean he believed the Pharms weren't complicit in keeping the virus going in the beginning. You know, focusing on treatment rather than cure. At least that's what my mom told me.”
“I like the theory they were in league with the old government to create plagues in the laboratory and release them for a New World Order and to create cheap oil.”
She shrugged and winced as the move scrunched up the sore spot on her head. “Even if they did. It's done now. No take-backs and the New World Order isn't that different than the Old World, is it?”
“You think so?” He dropped his hand to stare at her as though she'd said something really stupid. “Populations in Africa, the Middle East, Asia decimated. What are there? Ten, twenty million Chinese in China now? Iraq, Iran, and Saudi Arabia transformed to the Persian Confederacy of States, and America and the EU's best friend. That's not suspicious? Nuclear meltdowns in Russia, Japan and France that left thousands of miles of scorched earth. Ghost town after ghost town in America, Canada, England and Western Europe.” He spoke passionately, his hands clenched tightly together.
“You should keep your voice down.” Sky glanced around the waiting room. The only person near them was asleep with his head back on the couch and his mouth hanging open. “You don't want to be hauled in and fined for sedition.”
He took several deep breaths, flicking his eyes around the room with her. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“Besides, there's no going back. Only forward.”
“That's the party line. Forward, into the future.”
“Doesn't make it any less true. Nothing is going to bring back the way the world was. The only hope is for a cure.”
“Not for you. Negatives have a future. Negatives can't get sick. You're the new master race. Rebuilding the world in your image.”
He was trying not to sound jealous, but Sky was way too familiar with Positives to miss the underlying emotion behind the words. She bit her lip and got busy fiddling with some of the velcro fasteners on the flak vest with her free hand, pulling them open and closed and silently cursing herself for being so thoughtless. What could she say to that? Especially to an AB positive. It was a miracle he'd made it to his teens. This coming winter could be his last. So many had already died in the plagues. Even with the lottery, there just wasn't enough government blood for transfusions.
The couch creaked as he shifted his long legs and changed the subject. “How long have you been on active patrol?”
She moaned inwardly. Maybe she shouldn't answer. Maybe she should just get up and move to a different squeaky couch or pound on the Clean Room doors and shout for the Sergeant. It was pretty obvious he hated her for being a Redneck. She stayed where she was, despite the strong smell of the blood. Stayed because he had another scent beneath that bitter metallic taste. Something attractive and elusive that reached out to wrap itself around her senses. Like nothing she had ever encountered. She wanted to lean over and inhale him. That must be what was tying her tongue into knots, making her stumble with nervousness. The heat seeped up from her neck to her cheeks. She realized she was blushing.
“Are you blushing because you're angry? Perhaps I'm annoying you. Is that question inappropriate in America?”
“You're not annoying me and no; that question isn't inappropriate,” she hastened to correct him. “Um, let's see. Five, no, six months. Yeah. Six months.”
“Is it strange?”
His voice sounded sincere. Like he wanted to know what it was like four nights a week carrying a gun and patrolling her hometown with orders to shoot to kill after curfew.
“You know,” he pressed. “Chasing the Hemogoblins and shooting people.”
“They're not people,” she snapped.
The easy-going expression shifted to something else. Something harder.
“What I mean is,” she stumbled to a stop. What did she mean? She tried to think. She should tell him they were taught to shoot automatically at targets and dummies. Shoot accurately without question. Follow your C.O.'s orders. Not what she really thought. The shrinks would be on her in a minute if she said she coped by pretending it was a game. A role-playing game like she created in the park with her friends as a child. She'd had weapons and combat training since her twelfth birthday. Back then it was easy just to make it a game of soldiers and spies in her head, and she hadn't stopped.
Training was mandatory for all Negatives, plus she'd tested well for aggression. Even trainees needed to be prepared to be called for duty at any time. Luckily there hadn't been a full-scale riot on the West Coast since she came of age. Shooting Hemogoblin blood gangsters was one thing. Firing into a crowd of desperate civilians, she wasn't sure she could do that, no matter what the aggression tests said.
Anyway, he was a civilian. How could he understand the pressures she faced daily? What the government and her blood type gave her no choice to do. Protect and Serve. That was her duty from now until forever.
He was waiting for her to say more.
“Hemogoblins hunt people for their blood,” she explained. “Drain them dry or sell off their captives to illegal blood farms. They leave corpses from rival gangs to taunt us. The bodies are strapped to the trees or telephone poles or wherever. They call them scarecrows. It's horrible. Evil.” She met his eyes, “So, no, killing them on HK patrol is not weird. That's justice and I don't lose any sleep over them.”
“Have you killed any one else? By mistake?”
She looked at him, surprised. “That's a weird question.”
“Hugo!”
They both started. Neither of them had noticed the man's approach. He laid one hand on the boy's shoulder. “Sorry, I kept you waiting. Let's go.”
The man had a beautiful, clipped way of speaking. Just like Hugo. He was tall, and his curly gray hair hung over his ears and forehead. Definitely good looking; with classical features: high cheekbones, broad forehead, and cloudy gray-blue eyes. Hugo looked a lot like him, except for the hair.
“That's okay, Dad.” He stood and turned towards his father. “This is a classmate from Redwood High. She was injured tonight chasing a gang of Hemogoblins. Right near here, in the eucalyptus forest.”
The man didn't even glance at her. “You're doing a good job soldier. We appreciate it.” With that, he walked to the sliding glass doors leading to the parking lot.
Hugo smiled. “Nice talking to you at last, Sky. I must be awfully preoccupied not to have noticed you before.”
She felt her cheeks flush again. Was he flirting with her? What the hell?
“See you at school.” Hugo took a few steps backward, his eyes flicking from her face to someplace at her feet. “Oh, and I like your dog. He's beautiful. Were you able to get him in because you're Tactical? They usually don't let pets in the hospital. What's his name?”
“A..Alex,” she stammered.
“Hugo!” his father called sharply.
She stared at him, her mouth open.
Stared while he jogged over to his father and left.
Stared at the sliding doors until Staff Sergeant McNeil came out and barked her name.
Hugo couldn't have seen her dog.
Nobody could except her.
That's because her dog was dead, a ghost. And only Sky could see him.
Chapter 3
Blood Ties
The motor pool driver let her out in front of the little two-story house on Waverly Road. Aunt Eloise's house. This is where she lived when her mom was away. She was tired, her head ached despite the pain killers from the hospital. There was reading to do for History and English, but all she could think about was Hugo. What he said at the end of their conversation. About seeing her dog.
Alex, her little Shetland Sheepdog, had been dead over a year.
The flu did change Rednecks, just as she had told him. Sometimes those changes couldn't be explained by science. Sky's enhanced sense of sight went far beyond just invisible light spectrums. She saw ghosts. Only animals so far. Alex had been with her since the day he died. Not every moment of every day. Often, though. Especially when she was tired or stressed.
The funny thing was, her aunt saw ghosts, too.
The little electric sign on the carport roof for 'Eloise Edwards, Psychic Consultant,' clicked off as Sky dragged herself up the front walk. Her aunt must have been working late as well. Peering through the metaphysical fog and paranormal ether for her clients. Her aunt Eloise was a psychic. For animals, not humans. And the psychic pet business was booming.
People had become very attached to their pets since the plagues. Obsessively so. Dogs and cats were immune to the flu. Unlike parents, children, friends, and family, they did not die off every winter. People became more and more dependent on animals for emotional comfort as the world fell to pieces. Eloise helped clients get in touch with pets that had passed on. She'd been doing it before the plagues. Since the die-off, business had increased exponentially.
Sky let herself in through the front door. Unlike many homes, they didn't need a curtained alcove to strip out of street clothes – full of possible virus germs – mist themselves down and change into home clothes. Eloise had a unit like that for the annex holding her office. That was mandatory, a city ordinance for all places of business.
“Hi, sweetie!” Eloise came out from the little hall that led to the other side of the house. An addition she'd had built on for her work. Tricia, her apricot poodle, bounded ahead, dancing around Skylar on her hind feet, begging to be petted. Eloise was wearing a knee-length beige tunic sweater over black leggings and little black loafers. This was her preferred style of dress when exploring the psychic realm with clients.
Her aunt stopped halfway to the door, giving Sky a searching glance. “What happened? You're hurt. I can tell. Come here,” she stretched out her arms.
Dropping the heavy black duffle bag on the carpet, Skylar walked over. As a member of the Guard, she was required to keep her weapons at home or school when not on patrol. Every Redneck did the same from sixteen on. Wrapping her arms around her aunt, she let herself relax for the first time all day.
Aunt Eloise was not a large woman, but she gave big, satisfying hugs.
She pulled Sky into the living room with Tricia dancing around them. It was an old house updated just before the plagues when Eloise and her husband moved in with their two small boys. Two floors, four bedrooms. The living and dining rooms flowed together in an open plan and a wide counter with seating on one side bordered the roomy eat-in kitchen. Through the kitchen, a laundry room at the back opened onto a side patio and access to the carport. When Eloise added the little office annex for her psychic business, they built a sliding door into the dining room that blended right into the wall when it was closed.
It was a very lived-in, comfortable house with oversized sofa and side chairs and big, worn Persian carpets over the hardwood floors. Classic, hand-colored bird and flower etchings decorated the walls. Tonight there was a fire in the fireplace. Though the days were warm, evenings got chilly in October. Eloise pushed her down on the deep couch and headed for the kitchen. Tricia was overjoyed to finally reach Sky's cheeks for some serious doggy kissing.
“I've got a yummy beef stew, lots of veggies,” she said over her shoulder. “Big, soft rolls for dipping. I waited for you.”
“Aunt Eloise, you didn't have to do that! Look at the time.”
She peeked around the corner and blew her a kiss. “Meals are better shared. Do you want to change into your old moldies or eat in your uniform?”
“Gosh, yes! Old moldies for me.”She jumped off the couch. “Back in a flash.”
'Old moldies' was a code phrase of Eloise and Sky's mom for their most comfortable at-home clothing. For Sky, that meant a pair of thick, fleece, snowflake-patterned pajama bottoms, an old purple t-shirt that said, 'I think you're wonderful,' in block letters on the front, and an oversized fleece navy-blue hoodie. The hoodie made her look fat, but she didn't care. Who would see? Because of the enhanced muscle development, 'willowy' was not a term that described most Redneck girls. She was slim but strong.
Her bruised temple was giving off sharp little pulses of pain. Washing her face and hands, she pulled off the tight band that kept her hair in the required ponytail, letting it fall loose over her shoulders to hang halfway down her back. That felt good. Her thick, light- brown hair was always a tight fit in her helmet. There was no way she was cutting it short. As a patriot, Sky was prepared to give up a lot for her country, just not her hair.
She examined her face in the bathroom mirror. A dark stain was already spreading across her skin by the hairline. That was going to make a nasty bruise. Still, nothing some concealer and foundation couldn't fix. Since all Negatives were in Tactical at school, everyone was used to seeing each other in less than mint condition. She'd grab a quick shower before bed. It was great now that water rationing was done and you could bathe any time. Until a couple of years ago, water and power went off at ten p.m. The night seemed quiet now without the chug chug of portable diesel generators people used to keep their freezers frosty. She'd fallen asleep to that sound for years.
Over dinner, sitting at the big walnut maple table with the matching captains chairs, she told her aunt what happened on patrol. Eloise's boys were both grown and out of the house. Graduates of Tactical, as was her aunt back in the day. She knew the realities of HK. Still did. Like every other Negative, she remained a member of the Home Guard Reserve after finishing active duty. Men and women fifty and over took turns on Neighborhood Watch, helping Tactical with patrols after curfew.
When Sky got to the part about being smashed over the head, Eloise got up, came around the table, and hugged her again.
Something caught Sky's eye as her aunt sat down.
“Who was here today?”
Eloise followed her stare. “Who wasn't? I had at least ten appointments. The last was a woman. She lost a...”
“Dachshund?” Sky finished.
“That's exactly right. I gather the spirit didn't go home with her when she left?”
“Nope. Just ran into the kitchen. Maybe Alex will find it.” Eloise could talk to animal spirits. She couldn't always see them. Which was kind of ironic, since Sky could see but not hear her dog. “Oh, that reminds me.”
She explained about the boy in the waiting room and how he had seen the spirit of her dead dog.
“Did he know Alex was just a ghost?”
She shook her head. “Didn't seem to. He acted like Alex was real.” She motioned for Eloise to keep seated. “I'll clear the table. How is that possible for him, I mean, to see that?”
Her aunt laughed. “You do realize ghosts and the people who communicate with them have been around a lot longer than the plagues. Just look at me!”
Sky's enhancement forced her to see through so many spectrums of light. Too many. Scales even animals couldn't register, like the after image of sound waves. Her friends had called her 'Bat girl' when that one developed. Even though they were only joking, Sky just lost it once when she was twelve and started crying. They never called her that again because they really were her friends.
There were other patterns she sometimes saw. Oscillating ones in black and white, things the doctors hadn't even been able to identify fully yet. The only way she kept her sanity when not on patrol was by wearing contact lenses that blocked all but the most standard light waves. Though nothing blocked the animal ghost visions. She took the lenses out on patrol but had to take motion sickness medicine when she did. Her enhancements matured slowly, which meant she still had difficulty some days putting everything together into a coherent picture.
Ghosts were a by product of her crazy new vision. Alex was the first. She'd seen him get on the Tactical van the very first day after his death. Seen him as clear as day as he jumped on board and curled up under her seat.
She didn't really think of that particular enhancement as supernatural. Like horror story ghosts or something. They were energy signatures that had gotten stuck. That's how the Psych techs at Tactical explained it during counseling sessions for new recruits. Another spectrum of light that most people and instruments could not fine-tune their vision to see.
The ability was a link to her aunt and her mom's family line. Sky hoped that would not become any stronger as she grew older. Escalating from animal ghosts to people ghosts. That would be awful. The spectral world had to be overflowing with human ghosts from the plagues. Spirits or energy or whatever they were who didn't know how to move on.
She started to wash the dishes. Eloise still had her old dishwasher; no one used them anymore. They wasted too much water. “Yes, of course, people have been able to see this spectrum forever. It's just that nowadays, the whole ghost thing seems to center around Negatives rather than Positives.”
“Is he a Negative?”
“No. I've seen his wristband. Azure. AB positive. It should be red by now, as a survivor, or if he won the lottery.”
“Or he should be dead. Very rare to make it to high school without developing the blood plague.”
“Maybe he has. His dad is giving him transfusions at the hospital. He's a doctor or something. Visiting from England.”
Her Aunt walked over to the sink and leaned against the counter. “From England you say? A doctor working with blood?”
Sky set the big pot to dry separately on a dishtowel. “I'm not sure about the blood part. Definitely from England though, I heard the accent.”
“Well, isn't that interesting.”
Something in her aunt's tone of voice made Sky look at her. Eloise was staring at the wall, frowning.
“Is..is there something I should know?” Sky asked.
“What? Oh. No, no. Just thinking about the boy. Perhaps his ghostly ability is natural. Like the psychics of old. Come on,” she pulled Sky away from the sink. “let's watch TV. Will Smith is going to be on the Tonight Show. Can't miss that!”
Sky brought her laptop and curled up on the nubby turquoise wool couch with one of the plaid fleece throws wrapped around her, a nest of throw pillows and the TV on. Maximilien, the Maine Coon, finally made an appearance. He belonged to her cousin Anthony, Eloise's older boy, currently in London for work. Oozing out from under the couch in that semi-liquid state cats seemed able to achieve, he jumped up on Sky's lap and settled in. She studied and watched the rerun of the Tonight Show.
Well, they were reruns to her aunt. For Sky and others of her generation, everything old was new again. Hollywood had been as hard hit as any other industry by the plague. It wasn't just the stars who died. Those were easily replaceable. There are always pretty people, even in the worst of times. Unfortunately, the plagues took most of the technicians, camera people, lighting specialists, and scriptwriters along with them. Cable TV was a thing of the past. America was back to three major networks – which, apparently, nothing could kill – PBS and some local access.
Some years before, the networks and remaining movie companies banded together for an agreement to synchronize prime time broadcasts and major movie releases for a specific year. Radio and the music business did the same. Since they couldn't market new artists, they just re-packaged the old ones. Scheduling releases as though they were happening for the first time. Her mom couldn't believe that teens today were watching the exact same celebrities and TV shows she had at their age. Right now everyone was excited for the release of the SciFi action film, Independence Day, starring Will Smith – event though it was coming out for Thanksgiving instead of Fourth of July. Aunt Eloise said that was when the film was released when she was a kid.
The ghost of Alex engaged Tricia in a game of tag. As appropriate for a dog of a pet psychic, Tricia had no trouble interacting with spectral Alex. Which was nice for both of them. Weiner dog ghost watched shyly from under an end table.
Sky missed her mom. If she couldn't be with her, though, Aunt Eloise was a great stand in. She was a little older than Sky's mom. They looked a lot alike though, around five foot five, sill slim, fair skinned with bright blue eyes. Her mom's hair was more brown than red, Eloise's the opposite. She wore it in a fluffy pageboy turned up at the ends. Sky had never met her uncle. His name was Bernard or Benjamin or something with a 'B'. Eloise divorced him long ago, keeping his last name because she said she liked the sound of it, Eloise Edwards. Her two sons were both Negatives since, whatever his failings, her ex-husband was another O-type, just by chance, in those happy, carefree days before the bird flu. Both boys were in government service. Derick, the younger, a diplomat and Sky's inspiration for her career plans. They were married and had kids themselves.
Negatives were encouraged to have children early, married or not. Women – any woman, not just Negatives – were entitled to generous subsidies and childcare. The childcare was to keep them in the work force. Industry and business could only be automated to a certain degree. The world needed people. Lots of people. But at the same time, it couldn't spare workers. Even Eloise spent six hours a day, three days a week, at the power plant in Mountain View, working on the power grid allotment boards. The self-employed, those who had finished their service or were too old for the draft, were required to contribute eighteen hours a week to general welfare businesses like power, water, sanitation, and infrastructure. Other workers only had to volunteer two, four-hour shifts a week.
The show was interrupted by a live segment on the upcoming Coronation. The world was excited. England was going to crown a new monarch. A prince had been found from the Tudor line. Well, they'd made him a prince. Many Tudor descendants carried the Rh negative strain. Or so the news said. England had been without a monarch for nearly three years. Now, that would change. It was just the sort of feel good story the media could fasten on. Every person with a television knew about young Prince Philip, soon to be King Philip. Only nineteen. Never going to set the world on fire with his keen understanding, but who cared? He was handsome and personable and single.
The Coronation was set for November first. Celebrations were planned all over America. England, after all, was one of their closest allies. Palo Alto was hosting a public Fan Fest on the first with big screens set up downtown, entertainment, food, and fireworks in the evening.
Even Sky had a t-shirt emblazoned with the Barbary Lion statues from the National Gallery, the British flag, and Philip's name. Eloise bought it for her at the Farmer's Market. Both of them listened raptly to the update. Chattering about who would eventually become his queen.
Once it finished, Eloise asked, “Did you talk to your mom today?”
“No. Time zone drama. We texted though. She says it is never not hot in New Persia and she is tired of sweating.”
“What about Kara?”
Sky glanced up. “No, again. Captain America and I have not talked for awhile, which is fine by me.”
She expected a rebuke from her aunt. Kara was her only sibling and sisters are supposed to love each other.
Instead, her aunt sighed. “She is an egotistical pain in the butt. It's not just me, right?”
“Totally!” Sky agreed.
Captain Kara Christensen was much too busy with her ambitions to be bothered engaging in casual chats with her little sister. At twenty, she was one of the youngest Captains in the regiment and the girl planned on making major before she was thirty. She certainly looked the part. Tall, blond, with striking good looks, long legs, and perfect proportions. It wasn't that Sky didn't love her, she did. Only Kara loved herself a lot more. When Mom – her personal cheering squad – wasn't around, Kara had little interest in coming home. Apparently Sky's ego-massaging skills were inadequate.
Maybe if they'd had similar interests it would have been different. Sky thought of herself as an introverted-extrovert or an extroverted-introvert depending on the day. She needed just a couple of close friends, video games, music, movies, and at least one TV series to fixate on and she was a happy girl.
Kara was exhaustingly social. Zeroing in on how each person could serve her needs. Connections, not companions. At least that was Sky's take on it.
Kara didn't need Sky and she didn't need Kara, and Sky was okay with that.
In fact, all she really wanted to think about right now was the very delicious Hugo St. James.