The Variables

“Playacting,” he repeated. “Sure.”

“So, then, you believe the tarot? You’re confusing me,” Cass said to the group. She pretended to stifle a yawn.

After a quick look to his friends, Hunter turned to Cass and looked her square in the eye. Then in slow motion, he ripped the card he was holding in two and let it float to the floor, its two halves fluttering down and landing inches apart. “No more Zombi,” he said with a wink. And the group turned to leave.

Cass watched them, unmoving.

“How dare you,” Lucy whispered from the shadows. Then she cleared her throat and tried again, “Who do you think you are?” Stepping forward, the group stopped. They assessed her with a

Felicity opened her mouth to respond, but Hunter put his hand up. “Who do I think I am?” he asked. “Who do I think I am?” He turned and looked at his pals. “Lucy King wants to start something.”

“Maybe she’ll get her daddy to poison you,” Noah snickered.

“Cass’s daddy can build a nice big tank for all of us to fit in together,” Hunter added.

Lucy cringed.

Of course they knew. Of course the System’s rumor mill was a well-oiled machine—and while Lucy’s negative energy was directed toward Huck, Gordon, and Blair—for most people there was no difference between the Truman family and Scott King or Claude Salvant. She realized now that the hostility was warranted, even if it was bred from misinformation. For a moment she felt compelled to defend her father; she wanted to say that they didn’t understand, he didn’t have a choice, he was going to do good—he had saved Grant, after all. But before the argument left her mouth, she knew it would be in vain.

Lucy took a step toward the trio and bolstered up her strength as best she could.

“Apologize to her,” Lucy said. “Those cards were special. Maybe it’s all a joke to you, but these cards meant something to Cass.”

After a moment, Hunter stepped forward. “Oh yeah?” He turned and gained support from his friends. “They meant something to her?”

Lucy nodded and swallowed hard.

“You know what meant something to me?” he asked, taking another step, the distance between him and Lucy shrinking. She resisted the urge to take a step away. “My house. My friends. My life. My dad wakes me up and tells me to pack one suitcase because we have to take a little trip. Some car picks us up and takes us to the airport before the sun rises and off we go. You know what’s in my suitcase? Nothing. I don’t have shit. I thought my dad was taking me to boarding school, so I left my bag empty. I don’t have anything that means anything to me.”

“You have your life,” Cass interjected without missing a beat. Then she walked with a steady click-clack of her feet against the Center’s tiled flooring and put herself in front of the boy. One of her shoes partially covered the Zombi card on the floor, the tiny wisps of white fog visible underfoot. “The moment you forget that the very fact that you can breathe...the very fact that your heart beats...that your brain thinks...is a gift, then you’ve lost sight of everything that matters. Someone in your family earned your right to live here. And you risk it...you dare to risk it all.”

The trio froze, halted by her intensity. Cass hadn’t sounded overtly threatening, but it was still there: intimidation thinly veiled.

“Go,” she commanded and they tripped over each other to exit—swearing at the girls under their breath and mumbling on the way out—the sounds of the festival outside filling the tent for a brief second before the door flapped closed.

When it was clear they were gone, Lucy rushed forward. She bent down to retrieve the pieces of Cass’s tarot card. “I’m so sorry,” Lucy said. Cass walked back to her table and Lucy held the torn card in her hand. “You didn’t deserve this. I’m so sorry,” she said again. “It feels like we let them get away with it. It feels like they won.”

“What have they won?” Cass asked. “What did they gain? They left, didn’t they?”

“Nothing, I suppose,” Lucy answered. “A fleeting sense of power, maybe. But your wi

“Being alive is never enough,” Cass said to Lucy slowly and she sat down in her chair. “You’re nothing without your freedom.” She pulled the rest of her undamaged cards out of her pocket and put them in front of her.

Lucy walked over and put the ripped card on top.

“We’ll tape it,” she said.

Cass nodded. Then Lucy watched as her friend wiped away a single tear.

The curtain rustled again and Lucy spun. She half-expected to see Hunter back with more cronies, but instead it was Blair standing at the tent entrance. She was dressed in black leggings and big brown boots; an oversized sweater dwarfed her small shoulders. She didn’t have a loot bag or a string of tickets, only a serious expression, and an ounce of self-awareness.

She looked at the girls and then closed her eyes. When she opened them, she seemed surprised to find them both still staring at her.

“This was a mistake,” Blair mumbled and turned to leave.

“No, no,” Cass called out. “Please...you don’t have to go.”

Blair looked at Lucy and Lucy stared back. Then she walked forward and pulled a single ticket out of her pocket and placed it in Cass’s outstretched hand.

“How does this work?” Blair asked. “Can I ask specific questions?”

Cass tilted her head and nodded. “Yes. And then we can see what the cards say.”

“Alone,” Blair said. She didn’t have to look in Lucy’s direction, but Lucy could still feel Blair willing her to exit.

“Of course,” Cass answered, a little too quickly for Lucy’s liking. Her friend turned to her and tried to look apologetic, and Lucy tried to play it off. She waved goodbye and made a face at Blair’s back before exiting out into the bright fluorescent lights of the Center. The noise hit her instantly—the cheers, the music, the rumble of a bass. Children laughed, some cried, and there was a huge splash from the dunk tank. The cacophony was overpowering: Lucy put her hands to her ears to tune some of it out.

Inside of Cass’s tent, Lucy had heard nothing from the carnival. The world had gone silent under the big heavy flaps. She wondered, just for a second, how her mother had managed that trick.

CHAPTER FIVE

They sat in the pickup truck without speaking. Ainsley hunched over with her hands in her lap, and she refused to look up. She kept sniffing and would occasionally let out a little squeak like a swallowed sob. But Darla refused to coddle her and Dean was too busy trying to get them out of the city to spend much time trying to mend the severity of the tension between the women.

For an hour they tried to maneuver the back roads. The freeways and the bridges were gone, clogged, damaged, and cluttered. Neighborhoods were riddled with debris. Dean would turn the car down one residential street and find it empty, only to turn down the next street and find a tow-truck blocking their way or a fallen tree left across the road. Down a different street, the road was washed out. One month since human life was ripped from the world and evidence of mankind’s absence rippled outward in ever-growing circles of devastation. They were not up against people, but rather the remnants of people.

Out in the city, further away from Whispering Waters, it reminded the group how egregiously the world was damaged. Some obstacles were moveable. Dean would throw the truck into park and wordlessly they would push a car out of the way or roll abandoned garbage cans to the side of the road. Some obstacles would stay forever.