lol I forgot the AN the first time :P
This is filler ._. I'm sorry, guys...at least it's needed filler...
CHAPTER 9: WITH PRETTY SMILES AND LIES ABOUT THE TIMES
March 01, 2013
Terry's House, the Edge of California
3:35 PM
"Anything happening out there?" Terry called out from the kitchen.
"Nada," Lacey called back. She turned back to the small, fuzzy television screen, pulling her feet up onto the threadbare couch. The TV blurred out of focus before regaining the picture of the crowded square broadcasting from the center of their city. Lacey had only been there two times after the apocalypse, once when she and Terry had gone to explore a week after Day Zero and once more when they had gone out to look for fresh food (of which they had found hardly any.) But she'd seen more than enough on the TV to form her own opinions about the new government.
Terry emerged from the kitchen with a plate, chewing a piece of stale bread. "You need anything?" he asked.
"Nah, I'm good," she replied, her eyes still affixed to the glowing screen. The bar at the bottom of the screen blared 'New World Plaza, Battery City.'
"When's it supposed to start?"
"They're saying three forty-five," the young girl replied.
"Better go get some coffee, then," Terry mumbled. "You want some?"
"Please."
He went back into the kitchen and left Lacey alone with the Better Living news show again. On-screen, the crowd's cheers had grown again, and they seemed more than ready for the speech to start—just like her.
Lacey didn't like Better Living Industries at all. She absolutely did not trust the way that they had appeared out of nothing and risen to power amidst frantic chaos. She knew that Terry felt the same way—they'd discussed the new government many times: over dinner, on rainy afternoons, during a significantly controversial or unfair BL/ind news segment. It was mostly why the two had decided to stay at the small house on the rocky shore rather than trying to make their way among the city-dwelling survivors.
She sometimes wondered what the people from her old life would say about her new way of existence. She knew what most would say—her, barely seventeen, living with nearly thirty year old Terry, out in the boon docks of a post-apocalyptic city where no one would bother them. But they wouldn't get it. There was nothing sexual or romantic about her and Terry's relationship. He had saved her life, taken her in when she had nowhere else to go, and basically had adopted her as his own family. He was more of a father to her than her own father had ever been, much kinder, more interesting, and considerate and above all, somebody who cared for her and shared her views. She knew she'd never be able to repay him even a fraction of what he had given to her, but the older man seemed to think that was alright.
A loud burst of static broke her introspectiveness, and her head flickered back to the TV. President Takashime Arashi was mounting the steps to the podium at the front of the square, and the crowd was going wild with excitement.
"Terry, it's starting!" she called out.
"Finally!" he yelled back. "Turn it up, would ya, Lace? I want to hear it too…" Obediently, Lacey held down the volume button, jacking up the noise emitting from the ancient black box.
On-screen, a familiar Oriental-sounding tune played, and Arashi signaled for silence. The music cut off suddenly. "Hello, citizens of Battery City!" he greeted, waving expansively at the adoring, naïve crowd.
The view cut to the sea of bodies again, flashing a wide shot of the entire plaza. Every square foot was completely filled with people crushed against each other.
Terry came to stand behind the couch, towering over Lacey as he watched. He passed her a mug of steaming coffee without breaking his line of vision on the president.
"Did I miss anything?" he asked quietly.
"Nothing important, just the opening," she replied. The girl paused to take a sip of coffee, reveling in the rich taste of it. She drank it every day, as fish and coffee were the only things that she and Terry still had a lot of, but unlike fish, she still retained a love for the hot drink.
"And all of this was planned, funded and executed by your new government, Better Living Industries!" exclaimed the Japanese president.
"What bullshit," Lacey muttered. "Is that the only way they can gain support—by brainwashing a bunch of shell-shocked people into agreeing with them by promising some shitty housing in exchange for their souls?"
"There's a reason they're called BL/ind," replied Terry grimly.
Lacey huffed and slumped back against the couch, wrapping her hands more tightly around the mug. She found the entire situation pathetic. Could the rest of the citizens of this new, fragile world really be so ignorant as to not see everything that BL/ind told them was full of lies and half-truths? Maybe it was because she was so far removed from the situation, out here where the Japanese government's influence would hopefully never reach…but no, she would still be able to understand that it was all going to shit under their supervision. It was too obvious.
And yet Takashime Arashi continued talking and the crowd continued cheering and BL/ind continued gaining support…
She heard Terry's distinct sharp of intake of breath behind her, and her eyes flitted back to the TV. She caught a quick glimpse of a black-haired boy—young, couldn't have been older than herself, and small, but with an undeniable charisma that shone through the screen—holding a sign before the image quickly switched to another aerial shot. But she'd seen the words loud and clear. BL/ind Brainwashes.
So she wasn't the only one that thought this way?
The company was obviously trying to control the broadcast, but the crowd was in uproar. Whoever the teenager with the sign was, he had started something big—something irreversible. She watched as many of the people turned to face him, hoisted high on the shoulders of a friend. She could pinpoint his exact location. It was as if he was the epicenter of an earthquake and was sending out shockwaves, each person in the path of them turning to listen to whatever he was saying.
Then the screens cut back to their lovely president once again.
"Fuck!" Lacey swore, growling at the TV. "That was getting interesting! Did you see that, Terry? His sign!"
"I saw it, Lace," he agreed, smirking.
"We're not alone," she mused. Not alone in our rebellious thoughts…
"Wherever there's an organized government, there'll be anarchists," Terry stated wisely.
Lacey grinned. "Anarchists? I never thought of it that way…"
"We're anarchists. Them—" he gestured to the screen—"they're anarchists, too. Anyone opposing the authority is an anarchist."
"That's fucking awesome," she muttered. "Anarchists. That's fucking badass."
"Nah, not really. We're not doing anything…"
"But we should," she exclaimed, finally breaking her stare on the screen to face him. "I can't stand it, Terry! I want to do something! To fix it!"
"You're talking crazy, Lacey," he stated, shaking his head.
"No, I'm not! You saw them! They're doing something—they're out there, they're spreading awareness, no matter what the cost for them. They see it like we do!" The girl's eyes had grown wide and her stare was fierce, her eyes once again glued to the near-revolt taking place on screen. Arashi was violently signaling for quiet and on either side, his bodyguards had whipped out their guns, fanning out to protect him from every direction. She could faintly hear gunshots ringing out in the background.
The crowd went silent.
More gunshots. A high-pitched, feminine scream, groans and gasps from the people, and yet the screen wouldn't show anything but Arashi's face. One of his bodyguards squeezed the trigger on his rifle, sending a shot of light into the crowd—
Whatever it was, that thing wasn't a bullet.
A distinct groan sounded through the TV's speakers, and the president smiled satisfactorily. "Thank you. Better Living only wants to do what is best for the people."
Lacey's jaw literally dropped, and she spit a mouthful of coffee back into the cup to keep herself from choking. The Japanese man still continued: "We have your safety and well-being in mind."
"Like hell you do!" she spat at the TV. Terry put a calming hand on her shoulder, but she still stared tensely at the screen, her hands clutched to tightly around the mug that the knuckles stood out, bright white against her skin.
"What a fucking liar," he groaned, frowning. "He really thinks he can get away with that?"
But Lacey was silent, all her concentration focused on the tiny screen where President Arashi continued to spew lies into the hungry crowd.
"Because they pledged their allegiance to us, because they have agreed to work for the company and to adhere by our laws, they have been greatly rewarded, as you can be, too!"
The guns were put away, the Japanese man was back to beaming, and the crowd was falling back under his spell. Lacey could already hear the faint cheers beginning to swell.
"I officially declare Hawthorne Towers open for residency!" he shouted.
And just like that, he'd gotten the crowd's support back.
The technicians working the cameras must have decided it was safe to focus on the people again, because the image onscreen was flashing between wide, overhead shots of the plaza and individual zoom-ins of happy citizens. It landed on a young child sitting on her father's shoulders, a group of young girls cheering exuberantly, and a gorgeous teenage couple embracing. As it zoomed in, the icy-eyed girl threw her arms around the chestnut-haired boy's neck, her absurdly long black locks flying, and they shared a long, passionate kiss.
Lacey abruptly felt sorrow for them, these two who obviously didn't know any better. They looked absolutely happy believing all the propaganda being fed to them—maybe because they didn't know any better? Although they didn't look that much younger than her, an odd feeling of responsibility washed over the girl. She had to show them the truth. They had to know!
"Poor suckers," Terry muttered, shaking his head.
"At least they've got each other," replied Lacey. She realized that he'd been talking about the crowd as a whole, which the camera had zoomed out to encompass, a moment too late.
"And they've got that lovely new government of theirs," he answered bitterly. "That'll obviously support them once they run out of food in the city."
This was another thing that the pair would hopefully never have to worry about. Crazily, miraculously, Terry's boat had survived the crushing waves and acid rain mostly intact, and it had only taken a few days for the two to make the necessary repairs to the craft before it was once again seaworthy. The boat was a lifesaver. Terry must have been the only person left in California who still knew how to fish, because the ocean was always devoid of other humans and just as full of sea life. During the three months she'd lived with Terry, he had taught her how to use a fishing pole, set and reel in a trawling net, steer a motor boat, row, and clean and cook the fish they caught. That was practically all they were living off of these days—truth be told, Lacey was getting sick of it—but at least they had plenty to eat.
She definitely wouldn't get sick of the process of catching it, though. Even after her near-death in a watery grave, she was growing to love life by the water. She woke every morning to the loud crashing of the waves against the rock and opened her eyes to the ocean, purple-gray in the dusky morning. Most days, she rose before the sun peeked over the horizon. Terry would pack their supplies and food for the day, they'd scarf down a quick breakfast, and at sunrise exactly they would board the motorboat (or sometimes the rowboat on a particularly nice day) and be off. An average day was almost nine hours spent on the boat, but she never got bored. Terry's simple life suited her well.
Sometimes, though, she did wonder about what else was out there, in the world that BL/ind controlled. She might have been content with the life of a fisher, but she was still a teenager, too—rebellious, restless, eager to explore. She always made it a point to keep up-to-date with everything that was happening outside in case one day, she did make the decision to rejoin society. From what she'd seen, though, she wouldn't be making that decision any time soon.
The only reason Lacey would have to go back into the city would be to help oppose the government. Out here, so far removed from everything, it seemed so clear that BL/ind was a force of evil. But the city shown on the news programs seemed compliant with their every word. The boy with the sign on the screen earlier that day had been the first sign of anything other than utter devotion to the suspicious Japanese regime that she had ever seen.
It suddenly seemed overwhelmingly important to her that she wasn't the only one to hate the government. If she could find this boy, talk to him, plan something…who knows what they could do?
Lacey realized that she had been staring at a BL/ind advert for almost five minutes, and with a jerk, she stood, stretching her arms over her head slowly. Terry must have gone back into the kitchen without her noticing. Lazily, she reached for the remote, flicking the off button and taking satisfaction in watching the smug Japanese girl's grin dissolve into static.
What to do now?
That was the eternal question during the days she spent with Terry. Lacey had arrived at his house with nothing but the clothes on her back (which was a mostly destroyed Nirvana shirt and a grungy, salt-encrusted nightgown she hadn't touched since the day she'd arrived.) He didn't have much in the ways of entertainment—no computer, and the TV and radio would only broadcast Better Living-approved information, aka propaganda. She'd read all of his books, watched all of his movies, and listened to all of his CDs. She'd even taken up cooking in an attempt to make the food they had left more interesting than the usual, but stopped when she realized that her experiments wasted precious resources as they were more often than not inedible.
Mostly, though, she talked to Terry. She was forever glad that it had been him in particular to rescue her. Terry was an amazing guy, funny and supportive in a quiet, reserved way. He might look intimidating on the outside, but once she got to know him, she found a large-hearted friend in the older man. He was the constant in her new, tumultuous life—whatever it was that Lacey ended up doing, she wanted to do it with Terry by her side.
"What do you want for dinner?" the fisherman called to her from the kitchen.
"Well, what are our choices?" Lacey called back.
"Fish, fish and…more fish."
The young girl groaned inwardly. She knew what the answer was going to be, it was just…well, she was completely sick of fish.
"I dunno, that all sounds pretty tempting…" she joked. "However am I supposed to decide between such a wide variety?"
"Isn't someone a sarcastic little bugger," he shot back before laughed heartily to show it was a joke.
Lacey laughed along and lay back on the couch, reaching for the book she was reading for the sixth time. Terry told her that he had never read it, but had picked it up at a tag sale somewhere and was never really interested. It was Lacey's favorite. The plot was intricate and fantastical, but just real enough for the characters to be believable and relatable. She'd heard of it before Day Zero and had been meaning to read it. There was another good thing about the apocalypse, one of the very few—she was reading more and becoming more educated.
Flipping straight to the page she'd left off on, the young girl plunged herself back into the other world. She was soon immersed in the story. The world outside faded away as she read more, and soon her thoughts of Better Living Industries, Battery City, and the black-haired boy with the sign were replaced by those of a place that didn't exist.
It was nearly forty-five minutes later when Terry came into the living room to get her for dinner. She liked the fact that he could leave her alone for so long without worrying about what she was doing—it showed that he trusted her.
"Hungry?" he asked.
She rolled over on her back to face him. "Just a bit."
"Well, food's ready whenever you want some."
Terry had always offered her the option of eating alone, but Lacey preferred to spend her nights talking with the older man. He had such interesting views on the world both before and after Day Zero. He taught her things about culture and politics that she'd never had any idea about before—her parents had never cared much for the workings of the government, simply shelling out a fraction of their colossal income on tax collection day. They were too lazy to vote. Terry, in contrast, had always been interested in current events even if they didn't apply to him.
And then there were their lengthy talks about the new world, the one formed after the apocalypse. From the very first moment they heard of Better Living Industries, the two had immediately been wary of the Asian adults who gained sudden influence. It had just gotten worse from then on out. As they lost all of their media broadcasts and outside information sources to BL/ind propaganda, Lacey and Terry got angrier and angrier until complaining about the way things were now was a daily ritual over dinner at the end of a particularly long, hard day.
She followed Terry into the kitchen, pouring two mugs of coffee for them as he dexterously flipped the fried fish onto a pair of plates. "That looks good," she commented, smiling weakly.
Terry rolled his eyes, chuckling. "You and I both know that we're sick of it," he said, placing it on the cluttered table in front of the window that looked out along the coast. Lacey followed, sitting down and digging in ravenously. She might be bored of fish, but that didn't mean she wasn't still hungry.
"Well, it's all we're gonna get," she muttered with her mouth full. "We're lucky we've got it."
"That we are," he agreed, nodding.
"And I'm lucky I'm still alive."
Terry nodded again.
"And I'm—"
"You need to stop thanking me for that every day, Lace," he chuckled. "So I saved your life—it's no big deal. I like having you here, you're good company."
"How did you know what I was going to say?" she exclaimed.
"Oh, I don't know…maybe because you say the same thing at dinner every night?"
Lacey giggled. "Do I really?"
"Sort of…"
"Well, maybe it's because I'm just that thankful," she said quietly.
Terry laughed. "You're sweet, Lacey."
"That's a new one," she grinned. "Usually it's bitchy or loner or cold."
"Maybe that's why we fit so well together, then."
"Maybe it is."
Lacey smiled at Terry, a genuine, warm grin of affection. He smiled back.
"Thanks for saving my life, Terry. I'm glad it was you."