Gods Under The Dome

12.1

《Matthew》

¤

Langford had been dragged in the opposite direction and yet I couldn't shake the feeling he was still watching me. It's a crazy notion to have, especially amid the swell of sweaty bodies, bent over and sorting through trash to be sent to the burners, but with Accuracy Assist turned on, there wasn't much a Militia man wouldn't be able to see. And if he'd been tapped into the Aviary Network, he had access to every drone on active patrol, and could easily spy on me from above.

My fingers go immediately to my shirt, tugging the bottom over my jeans as though if I did it enough, the fabric would expand and shield me from prying eyes. I try to suppress this feeling, remembering how my behavior reeks of eyebrow-arching suspicion, and push through the crowd, head lowered, picking up discarded bottles and rotting food when the urge to claw at my shirt became too much.

All around me, Cleaning day continues without a hitch. Children pull weeds from real flower box planters. Men in dark overalls roll out new slabs of astro turf, replacing those whose plastic grasses have been trampled on by too many feet. Women in dark overalls oversee house touch-ups, applying fresh coats of muted grey to scratched siding while being mindful not to drip paint onto the dove hanging over each doorway. The elderly dig through dumpsters, splotchy, wrinkled fingertips raking through heaps of rancid food and broken electronics.

As I reach down to stuff a bottle into my bag, Della's voice crackles over the comm. "One-zero?"

Reflexively, I slink behind someone's mailbox, where a pair of painted, beady chicken eyes looks down at me mid-squawk. Ensuring the decorative chicken is my only witness, I whisper, "I thought you said radio silence unless imperative."

The comm crackles again. "You had an incident of increased heart rate," Della says. There's an unsettling softness in her voice that makes me think she might have been genuinely concerned. "Something wrong?"

I shake my head and hunch over, burying myself elbow-deep in a pile of wrinkled clothes as I set about pretending to sort them by color. "Christ, what else has Izzer modified on this comm?"

Della snorts. "If I told you, it would ruin the surprise that comes with discovering something new."

I snort. "Because that's what I need right now." Hiding behind a crumpled, stained blue work shirt which reeks of body odor and stale beer, I add, "It wasn't a big deal. Just a militia getting friendly, is all."

"Trying to make the Chemist jealous?"

Heat rises to my cheeks. Hopefully, the comm doesn't also pick up on changes to body temperature.

"One-zero?"

Gathering up a handful of white t-shirts, I make for the nearest dumpster. To blend in, I stuff one in the bag Langford had given me earlier. Through the throng of people, busy finishing their assigned tasks, I spot the pitched roof of the Sector's Community Hall.

"I've got the rendezvous point in sight. Heading there now."

"I'll keep the commlink open so I can hear what goes on."

I raise an eyebrow. "Expecting a double-cross?"

Della chuckles. "You never know. I deal with plenty of assholes. Over and out."