DMV, page 35
“Jesus Christ!” Bernard said. “What the hell is this?”
The office looked more like a house of horrors than a government agency. The air was murky, there were dead bodies on the floor and all of the seated employees looked like zombies. In the center of the room was a weird geometric structure that was disturbingly familiar, though it was larger and far more intricate than the one they had encountered at their initiation. Everything was illuminated by that eerie yellow light.
There were also two women at the far end of the office, two normal-looking women barely visible behind dark immobile sentries—a line of motionless men completely covered in bees.
“Help us!” one of the women called. “We can’t get out!”
“Are those things even alive?” Bernard wondered, walking forward. He approached the sentries.
“Don’t!” Violet said.
“Help!” the second woman cried.
“Those things aren’t moving,” Bernard announced. “I think we’re safe. We’re coming!” he called.
One of them did move.
It turned toward them.
Violet’s grip tightened in his. Zal heard a familiar buzzing, a buzzing that sounded almost like a language. Had it been there all along? He had the feeling it had, although he had not noticed it until now.
Bernard stopped, stamping his foot. “Move!” he ordered the figures. “Get out of my way!”
Another one turned toward him. In a sliver of open space between the crawling insects on its face was a portion of smiling skull, a flash of red blood.
“What are they?” Violet whispered fearfully.
Zal suddenly had an idea. He stepped in front of the Information window and told the pale impassive woman behind it that they were from Data Initiatives, were updating the department’s computer systems and had to get to the other side of the office. “We need those…people to move.” He pointed. “Can you tell them to get out of the way and let us through?”
She stared at him blankly, said nothing.
Bernard had crept forward, closer to the sentries. None of them made a move in his direction, and he continued on, carefully stepping over a dead body on the floor and slipping around the figure at the end of the line. A few stray insects flew up and around but made no effort to sting him. “Quick!” he called to the women. “Come here!”
Zal moved away from the Information desk, and he and Violet stood there, watching Bernard.
“Grab my hand,” he ordered the taller woman. “Then grab her hand.”
The three of them linked together, and with a sudden burst of speed, Bernard came out from behind the line of dark figures, pulling the two women with him, a couple of bees following in their wake. They dashed over to Zal and Violet.
“Thank God!” the taller woman said, stumbling to a halt. “I thought we’d be trapped there until…” She didn’t finish the thought. She didn’t have to.
Catching her breath, she smoothed down her clothes. There was a white piece of paper in her hand. “I’m Rosita, by the way. She’s Beverly.”
“I’m Zal, this is Violet, and your rescuer is Bernard.”
“Why are you guys even here? I assume you’re not registering your vehicle.”
He smiled. “No, we’re not. Why are you here?”
“The DMV kidnapped my husband,” Beverly said. “He was unemployed, and they said they were taking him to a camp for job training. That was over two months ago.”
“They took my husband, too. After a traffic stop. And impounded his car.” Rosita looked at Zal suspiciously. “You guys don’t work for the DMV, do you?”
“I don’t,” Violet offered.
“We sort of do,” Zal said. “We’re with Data Initiatives. The DMV hired us to update their online registration system.”
“So you’re here to fix their computers?”
“We’re here to stop them from doing what they do with their computers,” Zal clarified.
“Specifically,” Bernard said, “we’re trying to put an end to things like your husbands being kidnapped, or people being allowed to use their cars to run others down without being held responsible, or a lot of other stuff that’s currently allowed. Basically, we’re here to access some of their programs, so we can pinpoint areas we can rewrite and alter that will do some good.” He glanced over at the nearest window, where a whey-faced man with a scarred right cheek stared vacantly into the middle distance. “Although I’m not sure how much luck we’re going to have with that.”
“We’re heading to the training camp to get our husbands back,” Beverly offered. “We found out where it is.”
“You’re going by yourselves?” Violet asked.
“You could come with us,” Rosita suggested. “We could definitely use the help.”
Bernard looked thoughtful. “Training camp, huh? They’re in the belly of the beast. And if they actually have been trained for DMV jobs, they might be familiar enough with the online programs to steer us where we want to go.”
“If your husbands have been kidnapped and you know where they are, why don’t you just call the police?” Violet asked, and Rosita explained that some cops actually worked for the DMV. She and her husband knew one of them. Which was why telling the police wouldn’t do any good.
Bernard nodded as if this was completely expected. “Their fingers are in a lot of pies. Scanning that system, I’ve found tendrils leading everywhichway.”
“So we go it alone?” Zal asked.
“We are,” Rosita said firmly. “You’re welcome to join us, if you want.”
“I’m coming,” Bernard announced.
Zal turned to Violet, who nodded. “Count us in.”
“Then you need to get a form,” Rosita told them. “It’s called an Application for Civilian Entrance to Department of Motor Vehicles Training Camp.” She pointed. “Ask that guy for form number A one-thirty-one slash two B, fill it out, and they’ll give you a permit to get into the camp.” She held up her own permit. “You can get up to four permits per form.”
Beverly glanced back nervously. “But you have to pick them up at Window Six.” She pointed. “Over there.”
It was decided that Zal and Bernard would order and pick up the permits, while Violet went outside with Rosita and Beverly.
The process took longer than expected. The employees they dealt with were practically catatonic, and they did have to get around that line of bee-covered corpses (some of whom would randomly turn in their direction), but finally they had their permits in hand and gratefully exited the office. Bernard looked worried as the two of them walked toward the women, standing behind Zal’s car.
“What is it?” Zal asked quietly, not wanting the others to overhear.
“If things have devolved to that extent—” Bernard gestured back toward the building. “—I don’t think tweaking a few computer programs is going to make much of a difference.”
Zal had been thinking along the same lines. “What do you think we should do?”
“Keep on keeping on. I don’t think we’re going to solve anything, but…maybe we’ll be able to help. A little.”
Rosita was holding up her permit, and she and Beverly and Violet were huddled together looking at the map on the back of it, trying to figure out the best way of getting to the training camp.
They decided to all drive together. They could have taken two cars, but why waste the gas? Besides, Zal wasn’t completely comfortable taking his on a roadtrip. It was getting old and was not particularly reliable. So when Beverly offered to drive, he immediately agreed, and the five of them piled into her Blazer, Beverly and Rosita in the front, Zal, Violet and Bernard in the back.
Problems started almost immediately. After leaving the DMV parking lot and driving less than a mile down the street, they were pulled over by a policeman. Beverly was at a stoplight, and the driver in the car next to them kept glancing over, honking his horn and grinning like a lunatic, revving his engine and indicating that he wanted to race. As soon as the light turned green, he peeled out, leaving burnt rubber tracks on the street.
And seconds later, Beverly was pulled over by a motorcycle cop.
“What did I do?” she asked when he walked up.
He said nothing, merely stood there in his shades and helmet, looking at her.
“That guy next to me took off at, like, eighty miles an hour, and you let him go and pulled my car over?”
“Your license has been flagged.” He took off his sunglasses, leaned into the car and looked at each of them in turn, before finally settling on Beverly. “Did you know that this used to be a sundown town?” He spoke slowly. “At the time, people of the, let’s say, darker persuasions were strongly advised that it would be better for their health if they were not on our pristine streets after the sun set. Very strongly advised.”
“We’re trying to get out of here right now, but you won’t seem to let us.”
His expression clouded over. “Don’t you take that tone with me, young lady. I’ll have none of that sass. You start arguing with a police officer, I’m going to haul you in for insubordination.”
“Insubordination is not a crime,” Bernard said.
The cop looked back at him. “And who might you be?”
“I might be the guy in charge of programming the DMV’s new online system, the guy who might find that a motorcycle with your plates is illegally registered, the guy who might find that—” He leaned forward to see the officer’s badge. “—John Rogers has so many DUI’s on his record that he should promptly be fired.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Well, good golly Miss Molly, I guess I am.”
The two of them stared each other down.
“I can do it,” Bernard told him. “I’ve done it before, and I can do it again. I can even make you into a weenie wagger. You want that on your record, John Rogers? Want your friends and neighbors, the other macho men at your station to think that you, John Rogers, get off by wiggling your willie at little girls?”
“Keep driving,” the cop said angrily, stepping back from the window. “Get the fuck out of here.”
“Will do, officer,” Beverly said politely. She rolled the window back up, put on her turn signal and merged smoothly into the flow of traffic.
“Good job,” Rosita said admiringly, turning around to look at Bernard.
“It’s what I’m here for,” he said, and grinned.
Their next encounter was on the freeway.
They were still in the city, but it was mid-morning and rush hour was over, so the freeway was not particularly crowded. Which why it was odd that, with three open lanes, a car came up behind them and started honking. Beverly glanced in the rearview mirror. “What does that asshole want? I’m going the speed limit.”
Turning to look through the rear windshield, Zal saw an old wide yellow Pontiac tailgating them. The driver continued to honk, then suddenly swerved into the next lane over, pulling even.
He sucked in his breath.
The man and woman in the Pontiac were his parents.
They were wearing the same clothes they’d been buried in, clothes far nicer than any they’d worn in the ten years prior. His dad was facing forward, driving by-the-book: back ramrod straight, hands at ten and two. But his mom was looking at him through the passenger window and laughing. Her window was rolled down, and wind blew her hair back, giving her an almost bride of Frankenstein look.
What were they up against? Zal wondered as he stared at his parents. The DMV wasn’t just an all-encompassing government agency that kept detailed records of every driver in every household—it could raise the fucking dead.
He suddenly felt overwhelmed. Who were they to think that they could fight something so powerful?
They had permits to get into their camp, though. And he and Bernard had access to the department’s computer system. They might be overmatched, but they had the means to fight fire with fire, to use the department’s own resources against it.
Which was probably why they were being targeted out here on the road.
His parents’ Pontiac sped ahead, swerved into their lane and immediately slammed on the brakes.
If Zal had been driving, he probably would have hit them. But Beverly either had quicker reflexes or had expected something like this, because she smoothly transitioned into the next lane, then into the next, then into the carpool lane. The Pontiac followed suit, speeding up, clearly intending to ram them, but a cocky driver in a BMW slid between them in the carpool lane, and the Pontiac slammed into him instead.
Beverly sped away, leaving the crashed cars in the dust.
“What was that?” she asked.
“My parents,” Zal said, and in an indication of how inured they all were to the craziness no one questioned it.
From then on, every vehicle they passed or that passed them was a potential threat. Once past the metropolitan region, they almost got into a Duel situation with a semi-truck that appeared out of nowhere and barreled down on them, forcing Beverly to increase her speed far past the limit, and it was only a long steep uphill grade that allowed them to pull far ahead and get away. Later, on another highway, a zigzagging motorcyclist slowed them to nearly a halt.
The camp was located hours away from any town or city. Following the map, they turned off the highway in the middle of nowhere at an unmarked exit, then continued down a series of increasingly narrower roads that branched off from each other, finally finding themselves in a heavily wooded area of rolling hills.
“At least there’s still cell service,” Violet said, checking.
“I wonder how much farther…” Rosita said, examining the map on the back of her permit.
They rounded a turn, and the answer was suddenly there, a large gate looming before them. It wasn’t quite Jurassic Park, but there was about it a similar air of imposing significance, the sense that it existed as much to keep something in as keep people out. A high concrete wall stretched through the trees to either side of the intimidating entrance, and several yards in front was a small guardhouse. As they drew closer, Zal saw that on the door of the guardhouse was the official seal of the Department of Motor Vehicles.
A uniformed man sporting a holstered gun stepped into the center of the single-lane road as they approached. Beverly stopped in front of him and rolled down her window.
“I’m sorry—” the guard began.
“We have permits,” Beverly told him, holding up her paper. “Let us in.”
He took it from her, read it, then handed it back, an odd expression on his face. Zal wondered if they were the only people who had ever done this. The guard looked through the window at each of them. “Do you all have permits?”
They nodded.
“No outside vehicles,” the guard said. He motioned toward three empty parking spaces to the side of the closed gate. “Pull in there, then get out and show me your papers.”
Beverly parked, and they walked over to the guardhouse, where the man now stood in the doorway. One by one, they handed him their permits, and he looked them over, then placed each paper in the slot of a time clock and stamped it. He handed the permits back, then pressed a button, and the massive gate swung slowly open.
“You may enter.”
THIRTY SIX
Todd awoke with a desperate need to pee, but he was not about to use the diaper they’d put on him before bedtime, and he held it in, clenching every muscle in his body as he waited to be released from his shackles. It was some time before a smug Aryan-looking young man came by and unfastened the lock that kept him chained to the bed. “Good morning, Three Four One Five Seven Nine.”
Todd did not respond, but as soon as he was free, he made a beeline for the bathroom, barely beating another newly released man who’d obviously had the same idea.
After relieving himself, he peered into the mirror above the sink as he washed his hands. Last night, after dinner, he had been separated from the others and taken to an office, where two standard DMV bureaucrats had asked him to proofread something. Once again, he turned them down flat, but the offer made him realize that they knew who he was—and were trying to get on his good side by flattering him. Which made him wonder if there was an effort being made on the outside to discover his whereabouts. He wasn’t that famous, but he was a little famous, and hopefully Rosita was publicizing his mysterious disappearance. He smiled to himself. If Chyla had been made aware of the situation, she was no doubt exploiting it for all it was worth.
Maybe he didn’t even need to try and escape. Maybe all he had to do was wait.
He couldn’t count on that, though.
Putting on his jumpsuit, he made his way through the double doors to the dorm’s mess hall. Danny was already there, and he looked terrible. The boy sidled next to Todd in line. “Three days,” he said. “No sign of her for three days.”
“Maybe that’s good.”
“Or maybe she’s been sacrificed to teach some other group about…whatever.”
“Do you want me to ask?”
“No!” Danny looked around fearfully. “That might be what they’re waiting for. If I keep quiet, maybe they’ll just leave her where she is and not do anything to her.”
Todd nodded, saying nothing. Most likely, he thought, Danny’s sister’s legs were still healing—or weren’t healing properly—and she remained in the hospital or infirmary or whatever they had here.
Or she had died.
He did not think that was out of the question, but he said no such thing to Danny, and the two of them sat down at a table with the three other people who had expressed an interest in trying to escape. One of them, an old man named Purvis, claimed that he’d been imprisoned here for years. The very thought made Todd’s blood run cold. How was that possible? If Purvis was telling the truth, either the man had no friends or family and had not been missed—or else the DMV had been able to completely cover its tracks. Either way, Purvis was here.
