“Sounded that way. Why didn’t we just say I slept in here?”
Oh, Jamie. Sweet, innocent Jamie. “Because I wanted to keep you my dirty little secret.” I shrug, pretending to play it off. “Just force of habit. Any time there’s a boy in my bed and someone comes a-knockin’...”
He smirks and turns a light shade of pink.
“Go back to your room before the Lady Marine does a room check again. And when you meet us in the office, pretend you were out for a walk.”
Jamie stands up straight and salutes me as he opens the door, looking both ways and dropping low, like he’s trying to be stealthy.
Our plan works fine. When I reach the office, Nadine is sitting there in silence. Cara is there, too. Also quiet. The two of them probably get along famously.
As Nadine leads me out to the squad car in the parking lot, Jamierounds the corner with his “went for a walk” story. Nadine asks no follow-up questions and we hop in the back of the car and set off for our tour.
There are a lot more people living in Fort Caroline than we saw in the clearing last night. Hundreds, maybe. And they’re all working. There’s a group of people going through a drugstore and sorting products into large plastic bins. A crew of men with sledgehammers are gutting the inside of a storefront.
“What is all this?” I ask.
Nadine doesn’t say anything at first, then quickly mumbles, “Cleanup. Everyone has jobs to do.” She tells us there are three shifts. Eight a.m. to four p.m., four p.m. to midnight, midnight to eight a.m. The shifts change week to week so no one is fatigued working overnight, but everyone does their part to help clean up and start over.
That explains why none of the stores are looted. Why there’s no trash or bodies in the streets. Why there are more parking spaces than there are cars. In fact, every road is empty of cars except for Nadine’s.
“What did you do with the bodies of the flu victims?” I ask.
Nadine doesn’t answer. I turn to Jamie but he’s looking out the window, his eyes narrowed. His focus darts everywhere at once, trying to take it all in.
“Where did the flu victims go?” I try again.
“We cremate the dead. There’s not enough space to bury them all.” The way she says it is curt and slightly rude. Like she finds my questions annoying, which, screw you Lady Marine, I’m curious.
But she does have a gun. So I shut up and let her go on with thissad excuse for a tour. I smile at a young woman who dumps a load of books from a large brick library into a bin outside its doors.
She doesn’t smile back.
I open my mouth to ask what they’re doing with the library books but remember Nadine has the personality of a poisoned cornflake and shut it. I still turn to watch as someone else reaches into a wheelbarrow full of books and dumps them into a bin. There doesn’t seem to be the same sorting going on with the books as there was at the drugstore. But at least they aren’t burning them?
I hope they’re not burning them.
Nadine comes to a stop at a large, windowless cinder-block building that says “Fort Caroline Sheriff’s Department” in silver letters across the top.
“This is the sheriff’s department,” she says. You know, I bet she wasn’t even a real marine before the bug. She probably gave tours at Disney Worldpretendingto be a marine. “You’ll turn in your questionnaire here when you’re finished with it. Sophie or Gloria work the front desk between nine a.m. and six p.m. And if you ever have a problem with one of the residents, you can report it here, too. Other than that, we’re mainly just here to help with smaller problems.”
“Like what?” Oh, Andrew, why do you ask things you know she isn’t going to answer?
But she surprises me. “Theft, mainly. But even that’s stopping. Everyone understands we’re a community now and stealing from one person means stealing from everyone. Also, they understand the food ration rules. The food and supplies you came with will be added tothe surplus and we’ll give you ration certificates for those on top of your weekly allowance.”
Ration certificates?
But before I can ask, Jamie says, “We have to turn in our supplies?”
“Just your food and anything deemed useful. You keep your clothes and water bottles.”
“What about books?” I ask.
She frowns and looks back at me in the rearview. “You’re carrying around books?”
“Not a literature fan?”
“Not a fan of wasting space.”
