UnWholly (Unwind Dystology 2)

“You know everyone’s name here?”

“Only the ones who make an impression. Here, let’s switch,” says Connor. “I’ll spot you.” They switch positions, and Starkey tries to lift the weight but can barely do two reps.

“I think I’ll pass.”

Starkey sits up, taking a long look at him. Most people can’t hold eye contact with Connor. It’s either the scars or his legend that are too intimidating for them. Starkey, however, doesn’t look away. “Is it true that you risked getting caught to save a storked baby?”

“Yeah,” Connor says. “Not one of my brightest moments.”

“Why’d you do it?”

Connor shrugs. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.” He tries to laugh it off, but Starkey’s not laughing.

“I was a storked baby,” Starkey tells him.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No, it’s all good. I just want you to know I respect you for what you did.”

“Thanks.” Outside, someone calls for Connor in that my-problem-is-earth-shattering tone of voice that he hears on a regular basis. “Duty calls. Take it easy, Starkey.” And he leaves, feeling a little bit better than when he came in.

But what he doesn’t see is what happens after he’s gone: Starkey lying back on the bench press, doing twenty reps of that same weight without even breaking a sweat.

- - -

After the sun sets, Connor calls a meeting of his inner circle—a group of seven that Hayden has dubbed the Holy of Whollies, and the name stuck. They meet in Connor’s private jet at the north head of the main aisle, rather than the old Air Force One, which still reeks of his meeting with Call-Me-Joe, the resistance rep.

It wasn’t Connor’s idea to have his own private jet any more than it was his idea to wear blue camo. They were both Trace’s suggestions to help solidify Connor’s image as the fearless leader.

“What the hell kind of army wears blue camouflage anyway?” he griped when Trace first suggested it.

“It’s for air attacks by jetpack,” Trace told him. “Never actually attempted, but it works in theory.”

The idea was to set Connor apart from everyone else. The Admiral had his uniform, all festooned with war medals; Connor needed something to match his own leadership style, whatever that might be. Although he wasn’t too thrilled to be running the place like a boot camp, the Admiral had already set things up as a military dictatorship. It wasn’t broke, so Connor didn’t try to fix it.

It had been suggested that Connor take over the old Air Force One, but that was the Admiral’s style, not Connor’s. Instead he settled on a small, sleek corporate jet from the outskirts of the graveyard, and had it towed to the north end of the main aisle.

Connor occasionally hears kids grumbling about it: “Look at him living like a king, while the rest of us get nothing but a bedroll.”

“Nature of the beast,” Trace is always quick to remind him. “Respect doesn’t come without a little resentment.”

Connor knows he’s right, but he doesn’t have to like it.

The Holy of Whollies arrive mostly on time for the meeting. Once inside, they swivel side to side in the plush leather chairs, for no other reason than that they can. They enjoy the jet far more than Connor does.

Six out of seven are present. Risa, who’s the Graveyard’s chief medic, refuses to enter Connor’s jet until she can roll in on her own—and a wheelchair ramp just to access Connor’s jet seems like an extravagance.

Trace, always the first to arrive, is head of security, as well as Connor’s strategic adviser.

Hayden is master of the ComBom, running computer and radio communications, monitoring the outside world, police frequencies, and all communication with the resistance. He also has a radio station for the Whollies, with a signal that barely reaches half a mile. He calls it “Radio Free Hayden.”

There’s a big bruiser of a girl everyone calls Bam, who is in charge of food services. Her real name is Bambi, but anyone who calls her that ends up being treated by Risa in the infirmary.

There’s Drake, a rural kid who is the Sustainability Boss, which is just a fancy term for the guy who runs the farm, or the Green Aisle, which was entirely Connor’s idea. The food it produces has more than once taken the edge off hunger pangs when ADR food shipments have been too small or nonexistent.

Next is John, a gum-chewing kid with a restless leg who’s in charge of maintenance and waste management, and finally Ashley, who claims to be very “person centered” and deals with “issues”—and since just about every kid being tagged for unwinding has issues, she’s probably the busiest of the bunch.

“So what’s this about?” Bam asks. “Because I got stuff to do.”