Contaminated 2: Mercy Mode Read Online Free PDF Page A

woman’s car to give it back to her. Yet when I start to, when I see it’s not a one-dollar bill, but a twenty, I don’t run after her. I smooth it in my hands and look across the parking lot to the convenience store, where they still sell things that arenever included in the government rations. Sure, the selection is small and the prices make everything a luxury, not a mere treat. But I have twenty dollars in my fist, and I know just what I’m going to spend it on.
    If that makes me a beggar, I think as I finish loading my pack and putting it back on, then that’s what I am.

THREE
    OPAL SQUEALS AND DANCES WHEN I HAND her the pack of gum and the candy bar. For Mrs. Holly, I’ve brought some artificial sweetener packets—she’s diabetic and usually has to do without any kind of sweetener for her tea. I hand Dillon some “beef” jerky—it’s made of tofu, of course, since meat products are so highly regulated that now everyone’s become vegan by default. He takes it with a slow groan of pleasure that makes me laugh.
    “You’re welcome.”
    “Where’d you get this stuff? That’s not government rations.” He holds me close, and I don’t protest, even though to be honest, he stinks of oil and smoke and other messy stuff he has to deal with in his job on the garbage truck. He stinks, but then again, I’m sure I do, too. Funny how we used to all be so obsessed with deodorant and soap and body spray, and now it’s good enough if we brush our teeth with the nasty, gritty government ration toothpaste.
    “Can I eat it now?” Opal, still dancing, waves the candy in front of me.
    “After dinner. Save it for dessert,” I tell her.
    Opal, crestfallen, scuffs her foot on the floor and looks for confirmation from our mom, who’s sitting quietly as she usually is, in the rocking chair. Opal huffs out a breath, but whatever she sees on Mom’s face convinces her it’s not worth an argument. “Fine. But can I chew the gum now, at least?”
    I’ve already gone through a piece myself, chewing until long after the flavor faded and my jaws hurt. “Sure.”
    “Where?” Dillon asks quietly in the kitchen while we unload my pack together. “Did you steal it?”
    “No.” I’d rather tell him I stole it than that a stranger gave me money that I spent on junk … though, honestly, there isn’t much else to spend it on. Our currency has become the vegetables we’re trying to grow in the poor soil of the yard and the scarves and socks my mom and Mrs. Holly knit from salvaged yarn. “A lady gave me money in the gas station parking lot.”
    “For what?”
    I laugh, but keep my voice low. I don’t want my mom to hear. Or Opal, who won’t be able to keep her mouth shut. “For looking like a beggar.”
    Dillon frowns and shakes his head. “You should be more careful. Next time, I’m going to go—”
    “You know you couldn’t.” He has to work. Not for themoney; that’s barely enough to make it worth his efforts. But because all people between eighteen and sixty have to sign up for assignments in the local utilities.
    People still eat and drink and poop and throw stuff away—people who are living in town, and not out here the way we are, still demand electricity, even if it’s sporadic and there are enforced brownouts and curfews to save energy. The trouble is, there are more people using up the resources than there are people to provide them. Dillon’s been on the garbage detail for the past few months. He likes it because, despite the way the world has turned, lots of people are still wasteful and throw away so much good stuff.
    Yesterday, he brought home a bagful of sweaters and old jeans that Mom and Mrs. Holly will take apart to use. Today, I brought home candy and gum and artificial sweetener. When you look at it that way, it’s not hard to see who’s the better provider.
    “It’s dangerous out there.” Dillon reaches to pull me close again, and I let him.
    I should tell him what happened at the