Page 73 of Savagely Yours
I vaguely recalled reading about the ultra-wealthy creating underground bunkers. A place like Totten seemed counterintuitive to that. Why give survivors access to provisions and a miniature model of familiar society? Why not just hoard everything and leave what was left of the world to suffer? It would make for good pillow talk between me and Dez.
I scanned my bracelet at the lunch kiosk.
The balance was still zero.
Dez wouldn’t want me to starve, but I wasn’t sure how to notify him that I needed to eat. Totten had couriers, but we hadto pay to send messages, and I wasn’t sure if there was a “pay on delivery” option.
A couple of gray uniforms scanned the room, weapons strewn over their shoulders. I watched them for a moment, mesmerized. They had weapons, which Totten had provided, but they didn’t use them. Every single person here felt as if they had something to lose, which was enough to retain general order. Only Sanitation had a reason to revolt, but Totten made sure this world never came into contact with Sanitation’s.
I left the line and walked over to the uniforms. “Excuse me, I need your help with something.”
I waited for one of them to grab me, drag me back to the line, or toss me out the door. Instead, they barely held eye contact, which meant they knew exactly who I was.
“Please wait over there.” The taller guard gestured to a corner. “Someone will be with you momentarily.”
“It’s about Mr. Harding,” I insisted. “I’m his?—”
“We know who you are.”
“And you can’t help me?”
“We’re barely allowed to speak to you. So please, Miss Tapley, if you will…”
He gestured again.
Amused, I retreated to the isolated corner.
The air smelled of roasting meats, savory seasonings, and baked goods. People laughed and ate, and I wondered how much of it was real. Were people genuinely apathetic, or were they merely getting by? Did they enjoy their new lives, or was this their way of coping to avoid going out of their minds?
On the outside, I appeared just as compliant.
I showed no inkling of “fight the system,” so I supposed it looked like I abided by it. But I’d come from a line of people who’d initially rebelled by moving in silence, building up numbers and resilience until it was time to be loud. However,a small voice spoke up alongside my desire to fight, and it was neither quiet nor loud, but it carried a weight that I was starting to feel in my neck and shoulders.
“You’re important too, Larke,”it said.“This time, maybe your fight is to save what’s left of you.”
I shook my head, sending it into the aether.
“I can’t forget,” a feminine voice whispered from somewhere nearby. “He lives in 720.”
I zeroed in on the conversation. Every whisper was a potential flag for either a new resistance member or the need to change plans.
“Conference room,” another voice, this one masculine, said.
“How much?”
“A couple of bites of the pie.”
“Is it…fast?”
“No. Slow, painful.”
“And if they find out?”
“Then, I love you.”
“Please, Dad…”
“It’s okay, sweetheart.”
