Many smelled a trap and declared “no qualification.” Others chose “soldier,” thinking it was better to be seen as useful—Gulfport couldn’t do without them. Three days later, anyone who had chosen “no qualification” stopped receiving Cladoxpan. Just hours later, fifteen hundred people changed into Undead. The remaining helots had to fight off the Undead and clean up the ghetto themselves, even as they became increasingly distrustful of one other.
Finally, the Office of Justice voided all existing certificates, declaring that many helots had fraudulently registered as “soldiers,” and a new raid swept Bluefont. The outcry was terrible from the many helots who’d been duped into signing up in the wrong category.
A new type of certificate was followed by another and another in a variety of colors. Weakened and submissive, the ghetto accepted the situation, praying they’d have the right document at the next raid. Although they were infected, their will to live was strong, and they clung to any hope, no matter how small.
This cruel, merciless method gave Greene absolute control over Bluefont. The helots were firmly under his boot.
I leaned back in my chair, too sick to keep reading. The Nazis used almost the same system in the Jewish ghettos in Poland. It was cruel but terribly effective.
My God, what kind of shit am I mixed up in? Lucia was right. Taking a chance out in the unknown would be better than staying here another day.
We had to get out of there as soon as possible. That very night, if we could. When I got up to leave the office, I heard Sue Anne’s voice on the other side of the door.
“Hey, you can’t go in there without an appointment!”
The door burst open. There stood Viktor Pritchenko, gasping for breath, drenched in sweat. He must’ve run all the way from home. I could tell he had bad news.
“Lucia’s gone,” he said, panting. “She escaped to Bluefont!”
22
Lucia tossed and turned all night, too hurt and angry to sleep. She knew her boyfriend had good intentions, but this appalling place was too much to bear. Just thinking about the arrogant Reverend Greene gave her chills. There was something deeply disturbing in his eyes, something thick and dark like burned motor oil that enveloped her every time he directed his gaze at her. And those Green Guards were repulsive.
But she wasn’t just upset about the town’s shocking racism or the way women were reduced to window dressing. She was sick of the way her boyfriend and Prit made all the decisions. They never listened to her opinion.
When she replayed their argument, Lucia kicked herself for letting her damn temper get the best of her. I should’ve listened patiently, reasoned with him, made him see that this place is cursed. Instead I acted like an ice queen. I wouldn’t even look him in the eye. As she listened to her friends’ conversation downstairs, she nearly jumped out of bed, ran down the stairs, and hugged her boyfriend till he couldn’t breathe.
I forgive you, he’d say. I love you so much. I’ll go anywhere if you’re there.
Instead she lay there in bed, stewing; her wounded pride wouldn’t budge.
She suddenly had a scary thought. What would happen the next day? How could they patch things up after everything they’d said? She wished she had a stronger argument to prove her point. Then an idea as bright as a neon light lit up her thoughts. A helot! If he just talked to one of them, if he saw firsthand the pain and sadness they felt, he’d understand.
Carlos Mendoza’s smiling face floated before her eyes. A handsome, determined man who stared down those sailors when they threatened him. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe, and she felt like she was burning up. She had to find that man and talk to him.
Before she knew what she was doing, she jumped out of bed and threw on some clothes. Her room was on the second floor, above the porch, so she wouldn’t have any problem sneaking out her window. A voice in her head screamed, This is a crazy idea. You’re acting like a child. Then she heard Prit’s deep laugh coming from the living room, laughing at something he’d said.
They’re having a good laugh at my expense. That gave her the impetus she needed. She screwed up her courage and started out the window. Then it dawned on her they’d be worried sick if she disappeared without a trace. They didn’t deserve that, even if they were acting like assholes. So she went back inside and picked up a notebook lying on the dresser.
I’m going to Bluefont. Hope to be back soon. Don’t worry about me. L.
She left the note on the bed and slipped out the window. She tiptoed across the porch roof to the corner of the house, where trumpet flowers grew up a trellis. She carefully placed her feet in the trellis holes and climbed down.
The fine mist had turned into a gentle downpour. As she looked in the brightly lit windows, a voice in her head cried out, Don’t go! But it was too late. Shrinking from the rain, Lucia set off for Bluefont. Her tears and the raindrops flooded her face.
Her house was on the far side of town and she got lost a few times, so it took almost forty minutes to reach the border. As she turned a corner, her mission almost ended before it began. A Humvee with four soldiers from the Gulfport Militia was slowly patrolling down the middle of the road, lazily passing a spotlight over the houses. Lucia threw herself behind some dumpsters. She held her breath as the light shone on her hideout. For a moment she thought they’d spotted her, but then the light moved on as the Humvee drove off in the rain.
Lucia waited to make sure they were gone before she came out of her hiding place. Ten minutes later, she reached the channel that separated Bluefont from the rest of Gulfport. She stared into the rain-swelled river that roared through the channel, black foam curling on its surface.
She walked along the embankment, looking for a place to cross, but got discouraged when she realized that the channel ran the entire length of the perimeter. When it reached the Wall, it emptied into a long spillway. When Lucia rested her hand on the Wall’s cold, rough surface, she heard a moan coming from the other side; a half dozen other voices joined in. Her hair stood on end. The Undead lurked just outside of town. They couldn’t scale the barricade, but still they waited.
She retraced her steps and ruled out the bridge. The Green Guards in the tower would never let her cross. She looked over at the ghetto. In contrast to Gulfport’s brightly lit streets, it was deep in shadows. Just a few dim lights flickered in the distance.
Just when she was about to give up, she spotted a pretty, petite brunette Mexican woman in her late twenties, wearing an army uniform two sizes too big for her. Her long black hair was pulled back in a ponytail that cascaded down her back. She was sitting under a metal awning pulling blood-caked clothes out of a bag, and then poking them with a stick into a kettle of boiling water that hung over a campfire.
“Hello!” cried Lucia.
The young woman was so absorbed in her work she didn’t hear Lucia. When she called out again, the woman jumped up and looked around in alarm, holding the stick like a club.
“Over here! On the other bank!” Lucia cried, waving her arms.
When the woman saw her, she looked relieved. She walked to the edge of the channel, which was cordoned off with barbed wire on her side.
“Whaddaya want?” she yelled over the roaring water. “You selling or buying?
“Neither. I want to come over to that side of the river. Where can I cross?”
At first the woman was shocked by what Lucia said. Then she let out a bitter laugh. “You crazy? Whaddaya want to do that for?”