Malcolm tried discreetly to place the solar cell back in his bag. He inched it out, he believed unseen, to check the slow charging progress. Unfortunately, he was spotted.
He felt her presence as she took a seat next to him.
“I didn’t know you took that,” Maggie said.
“Yes.”
“Can I ask why?”
Malcolm cleared his throat. “I have my cart and wanted a spare. It’s not like there are stores where I could go and pick one up.”
“This is true, not everyone has private transportation.”
“Why is that?” Malcolm asked. “I mean Salvation is big.”
“There’s no need. Everyone resides within their sectors of work. It operates well.”
Malcolm merely hummed a ‘hmm.’
“Why the distain? And your mood has switched. Care to share?”
He shrugged. “A lot of things.”
“Like?”
Malcolm debated. He thought about his late night, hidden conversation with Blake. How he fixed the buggy for him. Because Blake had no family to find, and since the meeting destination of Vegas wasn’t a great idea, he would head to Champaign. The plan was he’d stop in Vegas, at the meeting place, leave a note and then head to find Malcolm’s crew. He would tell them, when Nora and the others arrived, that they had to go elsewhere.
Trey believed it was insane and overboard. Follow the clues to meet up. Note in Vegas saying go to Champaign, note in Champaign, saying go… wherever. But Malcolm didn’t. Safety in numbers. Get as many together as they could and get off the radar of Salvation. It wasn’t safe, Malcolm felt it.
“Malcolm?” Maggie drew his attention.
“Like…. Like it seemed you weren’t concerned about finding a cure. You were more concerned with the… Hatched.”
“I want a cure. Working on it isn’t my forte. And yes, I am concerned about the Hatched.”
“Why?”
“They can be carriers, like the president.”
“What difference does it make?” asked Malcolm. “You’re behind a great big wall and don’t come out.”
“Is Trey, our military? Farmers? Not everyone is behind the wall. All it takes is one person. One infection. We lucked out with the president. We won’t luck out again. Remember, I told you it was herd immunity, so some are not immune. The children born, the first Generation Salvation are only fifty percent immune. The virus hit us hard and wiped out the world. We saved a portion, we can’t let that happen again.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
Malcolm nodded. “I do. That doesn’t make Salvation sound any more appealing.”
“What?” Maggie asked, shocked. “It’s Utopia.”
“Sans freedom.”
“No.” She shook her head. “There is freedom. It’s a good life. You need to give it a chance. You’re welcome there, you know this. You have immunity.”
“Others that have hatched, as you call it, have immunity.”
“No. No.” She chuckled. “Not immunity to the virus. Immunity.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re helping us. No charges will be brought. Unlike the president. He will be charged for crimes against humanity and genocide.”
“He was part of it,” Malcolm said, “we were innocent bystanders.”
“We don’t know that.”
“We’re telling you. We were taken against our will. Ask Trey he saw a video.”
“If there was such a video, it’s long gone. We go by what we know. You woke up thirty years later. Protected from the horrors of the virus. A vital part of civilization with skills. Tell me, Mr. Lowe. What would you think, if you were us?”
Malcolm wanted to tell her, he would give them the benefit of the doubt. He didn’t. Instead he said, “Well, keep in mind. Innocent until proven guilty.”
Maggie tapped him on the leg. “It doesn’t operate like that anymore. In the old world too many criminals went free.”
He was rendered temporally speechless. Every day that went by he was given another reason to believe the city behind the wall wasn’t all that much of a Salvation. At least not for him.
“Quit playing with your crotch,” John scolded Hunter the second they stopped the buggy in Champaign. “You’ve been doing so since we stepped out of Target.”
“It was not a target, it was a large building of the old world,” Hunter said. “Items inside. Not needed.” Again, he pulled the crotch section of the blue jean fabric. “Tight.”
“Not really,” John said. “You’ll get used to them. You need to look human.”
“Hunter is human,” Hunter said.
“Hunter speaks in third person,” John retorted, “Which makes you slightly different.” He then dropped his voice to barely a mumble. “Of course, your size and appearance don’t help.”
“What does John say?” Hunter asked.
Meredith replied. “He’s just being cranky. You do need to wear clothes. You look different than most, Hunter.”
“Most?”
“Okay, all the people we’re meeting with. You’re different from them.”
“Because Hunter looks different does not mean Hunter is different,” Hunter said.
“That is true. But you wanted to experience the world, wearing clothing is part of it.” Meredith reached out and touched the side of his jeans then his shirt. “Understand?”
“Yes.”
John looked up from the tops of his eyes. “I still can’t believe you wouldn’t let me make him wear the Superman shirt.”
Meredith snapped. “Because you just want another reason to call him Sloth from the Goonies. He doesn’t look like Sloth. If you recall, Sloth had a cone head, eyes at different levels. Hunter does not look like Sloth.”
“You have to admit there are similarities.”
Meredith looked at Hunter. The flat nose, thick lips, rounded mouth and bald head, were indeed similarities, but that was all. “I refuse to give into your bullying,”
“Bullying?” John laughed. “You’re blinded by your toy boy infatuation with him.”
“Oh, stop.” Meredith folded her arms, then looked behind her. Hunter was walking slowly up the road, looking around.
“Where is he going?” John asked.
“You know how he is. Safety first. He’s looking for a good camp spot. Obviously the others aren’t here.”
“We just want to wait?” John questioned.
“What else is there to do?”
“Well, we can become as infatuated as Hunter with old store windows.”
After a double take Meredith saw Hunter. He stood by a store window just staring, “Hunter?”
“Message.” Hunter said. “Dirt is cleared.”
“What?” John asked and walked toward Hunter. “What do you mean?”
Hunter stepped out of the way of the hardware store window. “Dirt gone. Message. What does it mean?”
Hunter was right. Decades of dirt covered the pane of glass, yet a clean spot of letters had been created to write a message.
Meredith replied. “It’s from our friends.” She read the message out loud. “Rantoul is Life. It’s signed Preacher J. That is our friend, Jason.”
“What is Rantoul?” Hunter asked.
John handed Meredith the map and pointed. “About fifteen miles north. That’s where they went.”
“Rantoul is life?” Meredith asked.
John smiled. “People.”
Nora squinted as she looked up to the cloudless sky. It was warm and the breeze carried the amazing smell of meat cooking on an open fire. The Rantoulians ate well. It wasn’t a town crowded with people, only a couple dozen, so things went a long way.