Justin Cronin - The Twelve

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you.”

It felt like a trap. “I meant no offense,” she murmured. “I have a pass.” She held it out.

“I said, look at me .”

Against all instincts, Sara slowly raised her face. For a fraught moment, the redeye considered her from behind the inscrutable shield of his glasses, making no move to accept the pass. The second one’s attentions appeared elsewhere; he was merely indulging his companion with this interruption in their day. There was something distinctly infantile about them, thought Sara. With their soft, unblemished faces and boyishly limber bodies, they were like overgrown children playing dress-up. Everything was a game to them.

“When one of us tells you to do something, you do it.”

The other one puffed his cheeks impatiently. “What the hell is with you today? She’s nobody. Can we please just go?”

“Not until I’m done here.” Then, to Sara: “Have I made myself clear?”

Her blood felt like ice in her veins. It took every ounce of her will not to look away. Those demonic eyes. That curling sneer. “Yes, sir,” she stammered. “Completely.”

“Tell me. What is it that you do?”

“Do?”

A flicker of a smile, like a cat with a mouse in its paws. “Yes, what do you do. What’s your job.”

She offered an obsequious shrug. “I just clean, sir.” When he made no reply, she added, “I’m going to be an attendant.”

The redeye studied her another moment, deciding if this was a satisfactory answer or not. “Well, here’s a little word to the wise, flatlander. You go through those doors, you best watch yourself. It doesn’t take much.”

“I will, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“Now get the fuck to work.”

Sara waited for the pair to complete their descent before she allowed her body to unclench. Flyers , she thought. For the love of God, get ahold of yourself. You’re about to walk into a building full of these things .

She screwed up her courage and opened the door.

She was instantly overwhelmed by a feeling of expansiveness, her sense of dimension distorted by a vertical vastness of space. She’d never seen anyplace like it: the gleaming marble floor, the tiers of balconies, the massive, curving stairs. The ceiling soared far above. Diminished sunlight descended from the high, curtained windows of the cupola, dimming the interior to a kind of twilight. Everything seemed both loud and quiet at once, the tiniest sounds reverberating before being absorbed by the void. Cols were stationed both around the room’s periphery and at regular intervals on the stairs. A line of workers, ten deep, waited at the processing desk in the middle of the room. She assumed her place behind a man with a bag of tools over his shoulder. The desire to glance past him to see what lay ahead was intense but nothing to indulge. The line crept forward as each pass was stamped. She was fifth in line, then third, then second. The man with the tool bag stepped to the side, revealing the figure seated behind the desk.

It was Vale.

Sara’s heart jolted with adrenaline. She couldn’t move; she couldn’t breathe. It would all be over before it had even begun. Her orders were clear: she couldn’t be taken alive. Nina had spared nothing in describing exactly what the redeyes would do to her. It will be like nothing you’ve ever experienced. You’ll beg them to kill you. You can’t hesitate . What could she use? Should she just run and pray they’d shoot her?

“Are you feeling all right, miss?”

Vale was looking at her expectantly, extending a hand to receive her pass.

“What did you say?”

“Are … you … feeling … all right?”

She felt as if she’d been yanked from the edge of a cliff. She fumbled for the correct response. “I’m just a little nervous.”

If Vale was surprised to see her, his face did not betray it. Vale was simply a better actor than she was. All those years Sara had known him, and she’d never detected a thing.

“The Dome can be a little overwhelming the first time you see it. You must be the new girl, Dani. Is that correct?”

She nodded. Dani, that was her name now. Not Sara.

“Display your tag, please.”

She drew up her sleeve and extended her arm. Eustace, using an insider in the records department, had arranged to have Sara’s number assigned to her new, fictitious identity. Vale made a small show of checking it against his paperwork.

“It seems you’re to report to Deputy Director Wilkes.” He gestured for another col to take his place at the desk. “Come with me.”

Sara didn’t know the name. But a deputy director—he had to be a member of the senior staff. Vale escorted her down a short hallway to an elevator with reflective metal doors. They stood in silence, both looking forward, as they waited for the car.

“Step inside, please.”

Entering behind her, Vale pushed the button for the sixth floor. The car began its upward climb. Still he wasn’t looking at her. She wondered if he was going to say anything. Then, as they passed the fourth floor, he reached toward the panel again and flipped a switch. The car abruptly halted.

“We only have a second,” Vale said. “You’ve been assigned to the woman, Lila. This is better than anything we could have hoped for.”

“Who’s Lila?”

“She’s the one who controls the virals. A major target. She’s under heavy guard and almost never leaves her rooms.”

Sara’s mind raced to encode every word he said. “What am I supposed to do?”

“For now, just watch her. Try to win her trust. You and I won’t have any more direct contact. Any messages will go through the serving girl who brings you your meals. If the spoon on your tray is upside down, there’s a note under your plate. Return any messages the same way, but only do this in an emergency. Got that?”

Sara nodded.

“I always liked you, Sara. I’d like to think I did what I could to protect you. But none of that matters now. If the redeyes figure out who you are, I won’t be able to help you.” He slid his fingers under his waistband and withdrew a small square of metal foil and pressed it into her hand. “Always keep this hidden on your person. There’s a piece of blotter paper inside. It’s soaked in the same compound Nina used to knock you out but at a much higher concentration. Put it under your tongue. It won’t take more than a couple of seconds. Believe me, it’s better than going to the basement.”

Sara slid the envelope into the pocket of her trousers. Death was with her now. She hoped she’d have the nerve if the time came.

Vale’s hand was on the switch. “Ready?”

With a lurch the car resumed its upward course, then decelerated as they approached their destination. Vale, snapping back into character, placed his hand on her arm, gripping her just above the elbow. The doors slid open to reveal a col, heavyset with dark teeth, glaring at them with his hands on his hips.

“What the hell is going on with this elevator?” Then, locating Sara with his eyes: “What’s she doing up here?”

“New attendant. I’m taking her to Wilkes.”

The col examined her up and down. His eyebrows wagged suggestively. “Pity. She’s a nice one.”

Vale led her down a hall lined with heavy wooden doors. Stationed at eye level beside each was a brass plate bearing a name and title, some of which Sara recalled from broadsheets posted in the flatlands: “Aidan Hoppel, Minister of Propaganda,” “Clay Anderson, Minister of Public Works,” “Daryl Chee, Minister of Material Resource Recovery,” “Vikram Suresh, Minister of Public Health.” They came to the final door: “Frederick Wilkes, Chief of Staff and Deputy Director of the Homeland.”