Contaminated 2: Mercy Mode Read Online Free

scans, and she looks at me.
    “You have six residents?”
    I force a smile. “Yes.”
    Me. Mom. Opal. Dillon. Mrs. Holly. She and her husband, Gerald, had refused to leave Spring Lake Commons when it was evacuated, and she came to stay with us when Gerald died a few months ago. We had a little ceremony and buried him in their backyard, which was the best we coulddo. She said he’d have wanted it that way, to be planted in his own garden. She refused to report it because she said we’d need his rations to stock up for winter … or for when they’d stop handing out food. Mrs. Holly came here from Holland when she was a little girl, just before the rest of her family ended up dying in a concentration camp. She says her parents risked everything to keep her and her sisters from having to hide the way we are now, and she’s way too old to starve to death. I’m not sure that camping out in a house gone “off the grid” is comparable to being Anne Frank, but I’m not going to argue with Mrs. Holly.
    Tony’s mom scans the cards again and studies the computer screen. “Opal’s still eligible for the children’s initiative services, right?”
    Opal’s birthday was a month ago, but she’s only eleven. When she turns thirteen, she’ll no longer be eligible for things like extra soy milk and vegan cheese. Or peanut butter, I think as Tony’s mom gestures to the workers behind her, who are picking and pulling the different boxes and cartons for everyone in line.
    The woman next to me eyes the goods Tony’s mom is checking off on her laptop just as the lady behind the table who’s helping her says, “Sorry, we’re out of peanut butter. We should get more next time.”
    “
She
got peanut butter.” The woman jabs her finger at me.
    “She has a card for it,” Tony’s mom says loudly.
    “I do, too!” She waves her card in Tony’s mom’s face.
    “You have a card that says you’re entitled to this week’s supply distribution. We ran out of peanut butter,” Tony’s mom says flatly while the other ration-disbursement worker beside her starts to look nervous. “Velvet has a child’s card—”
    “She’s not a child!”
    “It’s for my sister,” I put in, but the woman edges away from me with a scornful sneer.
    “Anyone could bring in a card for a child,” she spits. “You have how many cards there? Six? Where’s everyone else? Why are you the only one doing the pickup? How are you going to carry all that? I bet you’re cheating!”
    This accusation rings across the parking lot. My stomach sinks. I
am
cheating, but not with Opal’s card. “We’re allowed to have one person from each household collect for everyone. Because not everyone’s capable—”
    “Let me see those cards!” Before anyone can stop her, the woman grabs the cards from the table and starts flipping through them. She holds up one triumphantly. “These people don’t even have the same last names!”
    “They’re my grandparents. My mom’s parents.” I reach for the cards, but she dances out of reach.
    “And this one?” She flips Dillon’s card in my face, but too fast for me to grab.
    “He’s … my husband.” The word still tastes funny, sort of terrible, like licking a battery.
    Tony’s mom lets out a surprised snort. “Husband?”
    “Those cards are all legitimate.” I force my voice to remain firm, not shaking. I look at everyone who’s staring at me, including the soldiers, in the eye. I start shoving the cans, all with plain white labels and black lettering, into my backpack. It’s a big one, meant for hiking and camping, and I can put a lot in it. “We’re allowed to combine households, and I’m allowed to pick up the rations for anyone in my household who’s incapable of doing it. It’s the law!”
    The woman who’s been giving me such a hard time narrows her eyes. She looks at me. Then at the small pile of rations I haven’t had time to shove into my backpack.
    Slowly, deliberately she grabs