Viral Nation Read Online Free Page A

others with nothing more than their basic rations.
    Clover waved over her shoulder as she turned with Mango toward the library. From behind, she looked more like twelve thansixteen. Her black hair was cut short, in chunky layers. She had a habit of hacking at it with scissors when it started to bother her. She wore their mother’s red Converse high-tops and blue jeans cuffed at the ankle with a standard-issue white T-shirt.
    She was so thin. He hoped for some meat, instead of the candles she wanted. The virus, which many expected to affect the chicken population, had jumped from humans to cows instead. They were endangered now and pampered like pets on dairy farms. It was hard for West to imagine that once upon a time people ate them. A pound of lamb or pork would go a long way, though.
    West watched until his sister was out of sight, then walked the other way, toward the Bazaar.
    There were two things he could count on every Wednesday morning. An unpleasant twinge of resentment when he traded a backbreaking week of hard labor for barely enough food and energy to take care of his sister. And passing by the Kingston Estate on his way to the Bazaar, where he knew Bridget Kingston would be somewhere near the gate.
    The Kingston Estate was as big and grand as its name implied. A large white house and a smaller guest house sat on maybe two acres of land with stables between them. The estate had housed the current headmaster since the Academy opened fifteen years ago. First a man named Norton, and for the last four years Adam Kingston and his daughter.
    A trio of horses looked up from where they ate alfalfa in a front pasture when West walked by. Beyond the buildings, the land dropped off into a ravine, leaving a backdrop of city below and mountains beyond.
    The house was well kept, with walls repainted bright white by government workers every third spring and set off by the deep blue shutters and a red front door. Very patriotic. A wide porch wrapped around the front and both sides of the house.
    As West came close, Bridget stood up from the bench swing that hung from the porch rafters near the front door. She wore her honey-colored hair swept away from her face and pulled into a high ponytail. The curled ends of it brushed the back of her neck.
    Passing on his way to the Bazaar was the only time West saw Bridget since he’d graduated primary school and become a dirt slinger three springs ago. They rarely said more than “good morning” or “hello” to each other. There was more caught in the space between them, but it stayed there. West convinced himself he was fine with the slow progression. He’d be about forty before he was in a position to offer Bridget anything more than a simple greeting.
    It hadn’t always been that way. Before Adam Kingston was headmaster, he was just a teacher and West’s father was a guard. A guard’s son could be with a teacher’s daughter. This guard’s son had time to fall in love with that teacher’s daughter, in fact, before things changed. Bridget moved with her father into the estate and that was that.
    “Morning,” she said. She wore a pair of Academy gray pants that she’d cut off and neatly hemmed into shorts, and a white T-shirt that set off her long, golden limbs.
    “Morning,” he answered. God, he was an idiot. She was the headmaster’s daughter. He smelled, constantly, of manure and rotting melon. He buried his hands in his pockets and quickened his pace.
    “Are you headed for the Bazaar?” she asked as he passed by.
    “Yes.” He stopped walking but didn’t know what else to say. He looked for something anyway. Anything to draw out this moment. “You, too?”
    “I don’t get my own rations until November.”
    Of course. He knew that she was seventeen. Her father would pick up her rations along with his, and those of anyone else he supported. He would never let his daughter near the Bazaar. West didn’t blame him.
    “Have a good day, Bridget.” He liked saying