“I’ll give it some thought,” Macon said. “First, I got to get my family to safety.”
They’d been trying to recruit Macon ever since they picked us up on the road to Atlanta.
I didn’t know if he was truly considering joining, or if he was just trying to let them down gently. The fact that they weren’t trying to recruit Cipher or Artemis was kind of surprising to me, but Cipher told me the military had a bias against amputees. When I read over the pamphlet they’d shoved into Macon’s hand, “able-bodied” was part of their criteria, whatever that meant.
The same two soldiers then escorted us to the building but didn’t accompany us inside. When I asked about it, Cipher said it was because they weren’t permitted within the city limits.
“Let me do the talking,” Artemis said as we approached the counter and Cipher motioned for her to lead the way.
The woman at the front desk wore a navy blue police uniform with a flashy silver badge pinned to her lapel. She asked a lot of questions, most of which I couldn’t hear because I was at the back of the group. Artemis answered them with her usual calm composure. There were several more officers inside the building, sitting or standing behind desks or guarding doors and elevators, all of them wearing matching uniforms, neat and clean with trimmed hair and fit bodies, whereas we looked like we’d just hiked 150 miles.
Next, we were led to an empty room with several long tables where they instructed us to put our things. Then they patted us down, paying extra attention to Cipher on account of all his weapons, and even going so far as to make him lift his pant leg in order to inspect his prosthesis.
“These aren’t standard-issue,” one of the officers said.
“Standard issues are shit,” Cipher said flatly, then raised his eyebrows. “Come on, you have to agree.”
The officer lifted his pant leg and showed off a bulky-looking prosthetic.
“They’re letting amputees onto the police force now?” Cipher asked.
“Just started,” the officer said. “Interested in joining?”
“No thanks,” he replied.
They inspected Gizmo’s hand as well, to make sure there were no hidden weapons inside, along with Artemis’s arm. I was surprised that they let her keep her crossbow, but apparently, only guns and explosives were outlawed. They seemed alarmed by my cat, and they warned me to keep her inside, in case someone tried to eat her. They’d also be giving her a shot to protect against Rabbit Fever transmission from rats and other rodents. Too bad the shot didn’t work on humans. When I asked Gizmo about it, he said that was one of the things researchers were trying to figure out.
Once we’d all been patted down, they sent our packs through an x-ray machine, then took our pictures for our I.D. cards which we are to keep on us,at all times.There was a recorded orientation video that went over all the rules of city living (there were a lot), followed by a brief medical exam where they aimed a penlight in our eyes and ears and swabbed our nostrils and throats. The nurse took vials of blood from each of us to test for STI’s, and the girls had to give urine samples to be tested for pregnancy, which Cipher said was nobody’s fucking business but their own. Gizmo said they’d probably use our blood samples to track the virus’s genome too.
“What’s a genome?” I asked.
“A genome is the unique chemical recipe that guides an organism’s growth and development,” Gizmo said. “Researchers want to see if the virus is evolving, becoming more or less hostile to its host.”
Less hostile, I hoped.
Our next stop was a waiting room where there were rows of plastic chairs occupied by tired-looking people waiting for their turn at the counter. A television broadcast of an old game show was playing, one where you had to guess the price of common household goods while pretty women showed off what you might win. Macon was outraged at the price of a treadmill and said to the rest of us, “Can you believe people paid money for something like that? When you can chop wood or run away from Rabids for free?” He shook his head, arms crossed, but he continued to guess the prices along with the rest of us.
It was incredible all of the things people used to purchase to decorate their homes and enhance their lives. Cipher commented on the waste and extravagance of it all, but I certainly wouldn’t turn down an all-expenses paid trip to the Caribbean or a brand new car, and besides, who wouldn’t want to make their home a little bit nicer?
“I’ve never been to the beach before,” I said. I wasn’t the only one.
“I’ll take you someday,” Cipher said casually, and I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face.
I was called up to the counter soon after and Cipher came with me while Teresa took over cat-sitting duties. The woman greeted us with a frown and said, “You’re not in our database.” She was dressed differently than the rest, not a police officer or a nurse, but still with some sort of authority.
Cipher said to the woman, “He wouldn’t be. He’s from the suburbs of Greenville, South Carolina. We found him surviving on his own.”
“Do you have your birth certificate or social security card with you?” the woman asked, and I shook my head because I hadn’t thought to pack those in my haste to make ready for our journey.
“Can you check to see if his brother arrived already?” Cipher asked. “Santiago Perrin-Rogers?”
She narrowed her eyes at his request. “I can only give that information to immediate family members.” When Cipher pointed to me, she said, “You have no proof.”
I pulled out my Ziploc bag of photographs and laid one of Santiago and me on the counter. It was a little worn from our travels, taken several years ago when he was ten and I was seven. In it, we were both wearing party hats and I was blowing out the candles on my birthday cake.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” she asked sharply.
“You have Santiago’s picture in your database. Compare the two,” Cipher said.
