Key to Fear

  Copyright © 2020 by Kristin Cast

  E-book published in 2020 by Blackstone Publishing

  Cover design by Kathryn Galloway English

  Book design by Amy Craig

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced

  or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the

  publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious.

  Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental

  and not intended by the author.

  Trade e-book ISBN 978-1-5385-5696-2

  Library e-book ISBN 978-1-5385-5695-5

  Young Adult Fiction / Dystopian

  CIP data for this book is available from the Library of Congress

  Blackstone Publishing

  31 Mistletoe Rd.

  Ashland, OR 97520

  www.BlackstonePublishing.com

  To all of my therapists.

  Thank you for helping me sort out my shit.

  I

  “Mommy?” The little girl closed her small, shaking hand around pale fingers stretched across the hospital bed. Fingers of the woman Elodie Benavidez had failed to save.

  Elodie’s chest tightened, her breath thick and hot.

  “Mommy!” The little girl tugged, but her mother gave no response. Her hollow stare remained fixed on the ceiling.

  Elodie’s paper apron crunched as she forced her legs to carry her through the open door and into the cramped exam room. “Come with me, sweetheart,” she said, her voice muffled by a thin mask. The warmth of the girl’s fever seeped through Elodie’s gloves as she grabbed the little girl’s wrist and pulled her away from the bedside.

  “No!” the girl screamed. Her tiny, shrill voice cracked the stillness of the room. “My mommy’s sick!” She yanked her arm free and threw herself against the gurney, wrapping her petite body around her mother’s dangling, motionless arm. “She’s sick,” she sobbed, burying her red cheeks against the corpse’s naked shoulder. “Help her!”

  “Sweetie, she’s gone.” Elodie tried to push back her own despair, but it clung to her voice like clay. She swallowed hard. “They all are.”

  “Mom—” The girl seemed to choke on the realization. “Dead?” Her breaths came in shallow, panicked gulps. “Like Daddy?”

  Elodie had read the woman’s chart. Her husband had been the first in their home to be infected. He’d died three days later. The virus had burned through him, used him up until nothing remained. Nothing but a flesh-covered sack of liquid jelly.

  Elodie squatted, her eyes awash in unshed tears as she offered a delicate nod. “We have to go.” The little girl winced when Elodie extended her hand. “Please, come with me.”

  The child shook her head, her blond hair matting against her sweat-stained cheeks and forehead. “She told me she wouldn’t leave me.” Sobs choked the girl’s words, and they came out small and clipped. “She’ll wake up.” She rubbed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “Mommy doesn’t lie. You’ll see.”

  “Oh . . .” Elodie’s voice came out a whisper as she wailed on the inside. She’d been assigned Long Term Care duty, and this was part of it. She stiffened, quieting her grief as she rose to her feet and smoothed out her crinkled apron.

  The little girl clamped her eyes shut and bowed her head in one final plea. “Mommy, wake up.” Her sweat-dampened hair slipped off her shoulders in tangled clumps. “Please, wake up.”

  Readying herself, Elodie let out a hot breath against her mask before clamping her hands onto the girl’s shoulders and jerking, forcing her to release her mother’s arm. The little girl bucked and kicked, but Elodie’s grip only tightened. “You can’t stay here,” she grunted. “We have to get you into quarantine.”

  Elodie wanted to cry, I’m sorry! I wish I could fix it! I wish I could do something! but knew it would be useless. The girl was already infected. Elodie felt it in the heat of her skin and saw it in the broken capillaries inking thin red lines across the apples of her cheeks. In a few days, this girl would end up like her parents.

  Elodie dragged her from the room, her little arms flailing for something to grab onto. “Mommy, wake up! Mommy!” She clawed at the metal doorframe, gripping it as if her strength could somehow bring back her mother.

  Elodie yanked, and the little girl’s grip broke free.

  Arms outstretched, she screamed for her mother.

  “Simulation complete.” A smooth, calm voice interrupted the screaming of the girl, the heat of her flesh, her mother’s vacant, endless stare, the hospital and its tang of death. The girl froze and became weightless in Elodie’s grip, became colored air. “Simulation terminated,” the disembodied voice announced as the scene in front of her blurred briefly before disappearing to reveal the real-life space around her.

  Elodie had tucked her petal-pink bed cover meticulously under the mattress the same way as every morning per her mother’s instruction. Her rock collection was lined up on her windowsill. The early morning sun’s rays shone through the measured two-inch space between each stone, casting a gap-toothed shadow against the uncluttered surface of her desk. Everything in her room was perfect. Yet Elodie felt hollow, carved out, her insides replaced with a wriggling ball of nerves.

  She pushed against the armrests of the desk chair she’d rolled to the center of her room before beginning the simulation, and tried to stand, but her legs melted under her and she collapsed to her knees, hands trembling as she tore free from her updated headset and visor.

  A holographic image appeared near the foot of her bed, carrying the same three-dimensional weight, three-dimensional realness, as the little girl in the simulation. Elodie stared down, half expecting the small heel of the hologram’s pointed shoes to leave a divot in the plush carpeting. Elodie blinked up at the woman, whose short hair barely dusted her sharp chin as she glanced down at Elodie and claimed that cool voice. “Simulations such as these are necessary to illustrate the flaws in the medical systems of the past. The virus, Cerberus, originated in a hospital, and spread quickly to those in uninfected facilities because of inadequate to nonexistent containment protocols. Would you like to further review the points learned within the lesson fifteen simulation?” With her hands gently clasped in front of the white pencil skirt she always wore, the hologram blinked down expectantly.

  A sob stuck in the back of Elodie’s throat.

  “Elodie, do you wish to review this lesson or proceed to the practice exam?” With a warm smile she tucked her hair behind her ear and cocked her head slightly. Although her hair was the same deep brown as Elodie’s and her skin the same rich tan, the hologram (newly nicknamed Holly by the citizens of Westfall) looked empty. At least she did to Elodie. Everyone else had marveled at how lifelike she appeared. This spokesperson for the Key Corp had always been smart, but she had also always been a voice—only a voice. Now, with her most recent update, she was a person. A person with a name. The face of the Key Corp and, in the same moment, absolutely no one, nothing but lights that were beamed from projectors the size of pinheads that had been planted throughout almost every home, building, street, and bridge throughout Westfall.

  Elodie swallowed past the lump in her throat and brushed her damp hair back as she stood. She was glad she’d taken a shower before beginning her lesson, as the line of nervous sweat dampening her brow was indistinguishable from her wet hair. “I’m done for today. I don’t want to be late.”

  Holly nodded. “I’ve bookmarked your place, so we can pick back up whenever you’re ready. Don’t forget, your final exam for this quarter is in four weeks.”
/>   “I know. Thanks, Holly.”

  Holly’s Key Corp–red blouse shimmered as she waved politely. “See you at the MediCenter, Elodie,” she said. Her image blurred and then vanished as quickly and soundlessly as she’d appeared.

  Elodie checked the time on her Key Corp–issued cuff. She was still ahead of schedule. She was always ahead of schedule. Tardiness was the one thing she had complete control over.

  Elodie glanced over her room to ensure everything was in its proper place. A few of the smooth river rocks she’d collected on the banks of the Columbia were askew. She hurried over to the window to straighten them before taking another final look around. Satisfied, she stuffed her damp hair into a beanie, hefted her clear backpack onto her shoulders, and jogged down the stairs into the kitchen.

  Gwen perched on the edge of a barstool at the expansive center island, her finger poised over the illuminated surface of her holopad. “Did my daughter just come downstairs, or was that a herd of wild beasts?”

  Elodie’s lips stretched into an automatic smile. “Morning, Mother,” she chirped, diverting her attention to the smoothie waiting for her on the counter. She lifted the straw. Beige clumps slid off the metal and into the lumpy mixture in the glass.

  “Don’t play with your food, dear,” Gwen said without looking up.

  “This isn’t my usual. This is . . .” Elodie wrinkled her nose, “ . . . something else.”

  With a sigh, Gwen tented her hands and cast Elodie a concerned glance. “I noticed you were getting a little bigger around, you know, this region.” Gwen extended a finger and drew a circle in front of her daughter, encompassing every inch of her not hidden by the kitchen island. “Seems I’ve been indulging you.” Her laughter was like glass breaking. “So I decided straight protein, no fruit sugars or nut butters, was the way to go.”

  Elodie’s fingers flew to her collar. “Thanks.” She squeaked as she rubbed the stiff fabric of her scrub top between her thumb and forefinger.

  “You have that horrid hat on again.” Gwen brushed back her own bangs from her unlined forehead and fluffed the curled lengths of her artificially blonde hair. “Is something the matter?”

  Elodie stiffened. She’d hidden her damp hair for a reason. This morning’s interaction with her mother was already off to a bad start—typical, but bad nonetheless. But without the horrid hat, it would be so much worse.

  Elodie stuffed her feelings into the pit of her stomach and covered them with a large gulp of the pasty drink. “Just not that hungry, I guess.”

  “Good. See? It’s working already.” Gwen’s blue eyes twinkled, in stark contrast to the acid spilling from the lips below, plump with fresh filler.

  “I’m going to be late,” Elodie offered with the same false urgency she’d used with Holly. It wasn’t a lie. Just an unrealized truth. Before Gwen could land another blow, Elodie hooked her thumbs around the straps of her backpack and cut through the open kitchen and living room to the foyer. She’d almost made it out the door when her mother’s shrill call struck her back.

  “Oh! Elodie! Your father said he’d be home for dinner this evening, so think about what you’re going to wear.”

  Elodie’s surge of excitement was quickly squelched by common sense. Her father was full of promises. If they held any weight, he’d have already sunk to the center of the earth.

  “I was thinking the green dress with the flowers,” Gwen continued. “It makes you look so thin. I’ll pull it out and have it pressed. Think of jewelry to go with. I was thinking—”

  Elodie closed the front door and sagged against it. “Four more months,” she muttered. “You only have to live with her for four more months.” She adjusted the straps of her backpack and softened as the spring breeze caressed her cheeks.

  The best part of her day was about to begin.

  II

  Aiden’s boots were dirty. He didn’t know how it happened, or where, but he knew if anyone at the Key Corp MediCenter saw, they’d tack the noncompliance to the end of the Shit You’ve Done Wrong So Far Today list. And, although the sun had barely taken its position in the sky, he knew that list was already a mile long.

  “Let me get this straight.” Dr. Cath Scott paused to remove a nearly invisible speck of lint from the crisp sleeve of her tailored blouse. The soft wrinkles on the back of her ivory hands told the story of her more than fifty years better than any other part of her. Though if Aiden tilted his head and squinted just right, he could catch a glimpse of the lines feathering around the corners of her kind eyes. “You decided that simply not showing up to your designated workplace was the right thing to do because you . . .” Dr. Scott paused, flicking her fingers across her holopad as she scrolled through Aiden’s most recent disciplinary action sheet. “And I quote, ‘ don’t like the job.’”

  Aiden closed one eye, then the other, back and forth, back and forth, making her form shift ever so slightly. He’d sat in Dr. Scott’s office in the same stiff plastic chair, an arm’s length from the rounded edges of her sparkling white desk, and had a version of this conversation more times than he could count. Mornings were his favorite time to get called in, when the sun crested the tall buildings of downtown Westfall and its brilliant beams reflected off the iconic pale pink tower across the street from the MediCenter. Dr. Scott’s wall of windows provided the best view in the entire building. Maybe that was why she remained pleasant even though they continued to meet like this. Aiden would remain pleasant, too, if each morning he was bathed in gentle magnolia light.

  The rays seeped through the towering windows, staining Dr. Scott’s mane of blond curls. “What were you thinking?” She squinted, and those thin lines around her eyes flashed to life.

  The zippers lining Aiden’s black synthetic-wool coat scraped against the chair as he shrugged and slouched a bit lower. “Like you said, it was simple. And yeah, I don’t like it. Babysitting surgical bots is boring. They’re bots. Get better engineers if their bots are so shitty that they need looking after.”

  “Ai-den.” Dr. Scott accentuated each syllable before pursing her lips.

  He slouched a little lower.

  With a labored sigh, she continued to scroll though his seemingly unending file. “Aiden, you’re in my office at least once a month.”

  He brushed his fingers across his full lips, hiding a mischievous upturn of his mouth.

  She set down the holopad and tented her fingers. “I’m running out of ways to punish you that aren’t . . . harsh.” A silent threat lingered behind the word.

  His gaze washed over the pink building and the MediCenter’s reflection trapped in its windows like the two were locked in a staring contest. Aiden didn’t bother wondering which would win. The MediCenter would. The Key always won. His toes clenched in his boots. “Be harsh. I can handle it.”

  Again, Dr. Scott’s thin lips tightened. “This is serious. If certain people were to get wind of the fact that you’ve been bouncing around from career to career, you would end up in Rehabilitation.”

  Each muscle in Aiden’s back stiffened. “I haven’t really been bouncing around.” He straightened and slid to the edge of his seat. “I’m trying to figure some stuff out, but I’ve stayed within the same career, more or less—”

  Dr. Scott pushed the holopad across her desk. The transparent screen lit up, blue-tinged white and black text came into focus. “You’ve trained as an anesthesiologist, a surgical core technician, a long-term patient care tech, a short-term patient care tech, in the pharmacology department, the behavioral health department, as well as medi-bot maintenance, cancer research . . . the list goes on and on.” And it did. So much so that the last line was partially blurred by the bottom of the screen.

  Instead, Aiden sat back in his chair and propped his ankle on his knee. “Yeah, but is it really hopping if I’m staying in the same field?”

  “Yes!” With a jolt of exasperation, Dr.
Scott tossed her finely manicured hands in the air. “And of course you’re staying in the same field. Your tests revealed an aptitude for the medical sciences. We know this is where you’ll thrive.”

  He sagged again, plopping his elbows against the plastic armrests. “Maybe I don’t want to have a career yet. Is that something your tests took into consideration?”

  Dr. Scott swept the holopad back to its place in front of her. “You are almost eighteen. People your age have been in their assigned career for years and are racing to the top of their field, not dillydallying, trying to figure some stuff out.” Dr. Scott adjusted the row of styluses on her desk until they were all parallel with the edge. “Aiden, there’s nothing to figure out. It’s better to follow the path chosen for you, and the Key has made it simple. I have made it simple. And Rehab—”

  Aiden lurched forward. “You know I don’t need Rehabilitation.” He scrubbed a hand along the smooth undercut lining his mohawk’s tight curls. “I can’t go. I won’t. Put me in whatever career field you want. I’ll stay with it.”

  Dr. Scott’s thick brows lifted, deepening the creases just below her hairline.

  “I swear.” And he meant it.

  Her nails clicked against the polished white desktop. “You’ve run through too many other careers. I’ll do my best, but chances are you won’t like where you end up.”

  “Anything is better than Rehab. I’ve heard stories.” His gaze fell to the dirty toes of his heavy boots. “I won’t survive there.”

  The pink light had drained from the office as the sun cleared the buildings, pinning itself high above the city.

  Dr. Scott folded her hands across her desk. “This is the last time I can reassign you. I’ll get it sorted and have your new career assignment within the hour. You know where to find the details. It’ll start today. Go home and change, but don’t be late. You want to make a good impression on your new supervisor, so no stopping somewhere that will get you into more trouble.”