Filtered by G.K. Lamb Read Free Book Online Page B

I’m in. There is no telling how long they can keep themselves preoccupied with decorating their masks before they decide to use their computers, so I work as fast as I can. My fingers darting like lightning, I type in the question Delia left me with, “If the air we breathe is toxic, killing people all the time, why aren’t the streets littered with bodies? What’s hidden in the silver trucks?” The search is instantaneous.
    The Public Works and Infrastructure informational page opens, scrolls down the page, and then focuses on a headline. “GSPWI workers toil around the clock to keep your streets clear of refuse, debris, and obstacles. We keep the city beautiful so you don’t have to.” Fantastic, more lies. More propaganda. What did I expect? I doubt the truth is that easy: to type in my burning question and have it instantly gratified with a clear and rational answer. Having wasted my one and only opportunity, I log out.
    Heart racing, I lean back in my chair, staring. The ceiling cracks and discolored spots of the concrete scowl back at me with unflinching coolness. Nothing is that easy. I had one shot with that, one shot to find something out, and I threw it away. At least now I know for sure the computers are not to be trusted, and whatever the truth is, they really don’t want people to stumble across it. I should have known; nothing is that easy to find, especially when the entire state apparatus is invested in keeping it hidden.
    Victoriana finishes drawing a thick golden line completing the zigzag pattern on the girl’s mask. As soon as the pen lifts from the rubber, the excitement of decorating the mask fades and she abruptly turns toward her computer terminal and logs in with fast, practiced fingers. Pages of fashion sites, media, and instant messaging clutter up every pixel of her screen.
    I let out a sigh. That was close . Unable to look at her, and with apprehension knotting my stomach, I log into my own terminal. Pulling up pictures of the billboards that stare at me through the glass walls of my home, I scour them hoping to uncover the secrets they’re hiding.
    Without warning, the door to the computer room bursts open. I look to the clock floating in the three dimensions of the illuminated light to see if it’s time to go back and watch the documentary. It’s only been ten minutes. My stomach tightens with fear. Cautiously, I look up to see the towering form of Inspector Aldridge storming in. My skin prickles and the hairs on my neck stand up. Speer quickly sits up, but makes sure to place Drumbeat down carefully so as not to lose his place. Aldridge’s thick build bulges under her khaki uniform. Her large head looks bulbous and inflated squeezed into her rebreather.
    “Victoriana Zarrov, come with me immediately.”
    Victoriana looks up from her screen. She hesitates to move, but slowly, she starts to stand.
    “Now!”
    The rebreather amplifies the authority in Aldridge’s voice. Victoriana snaps up and with her head held low, quickly races out the door. Aldridge follows her out into the hall. The door closes cutting them out of view. Looking around nervously for a moment, Speer jumps up from the desk.
    “Up! Back to the room. You will sit there in silence until I return. Comply?”
    The other students had already sprung to their feet.
    “Yes, sir!”
    Speer rushes out the door, which slams hard behind him. Hector, the boy who was fidgeting with his hands after the first documentary, steps up to the door and holds it open.
    “File in behind me.”
    The class obeys without thought to the authority of his command. I rise from my seat at the last possible moment and jump to the end of the line. Anxiety grips me. Walking down the hall to the classroom, I feel the monitors’ eyes on me like lasers. Their heads and eyes follow me as I walk past them. They can see my guilt. They can see it written on every pore, on every strand of hair. I know these thoughts are irrational, but I’m terrified