[REND] B3. 1.1 - Four Bs Assemble

Monday was the day I learned of a mind-shattering fact. ‘Smore’, the name of the marshmallow cracker sandwich, was actually a contraction of the phrase ‘some more’. Some more! Because it was that good.

I previously thought ‘smores’ was French or something that meant toasted marshmallows. The name was coined by the Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts. Not too surprising. They’re the organization which had toasted probably millions of marshmallows over campfires through the decades.  

Some more smores. Knowing this made my day better. But it couldn’t beat actually eating smores.

I took one out of the box and munched on it, my bunny teeth breaking the crackers and stabbing into the chewy and gooey middle. I imagined that I was Blanchette, munching on a skull, cracking the bone with my fangs to reach the mushy gray matter it protected.

Okay, that’s not an appetizing image, I thought as I stopped chewing. Thankfully, when I was transformed, I wasn’t disgusted with eating people and monsters.

I adjusted my fake glasses as I examined the smore, wriggling my upturned button of a nose to gingerly sniff it. To my Blanchette form, cracker and bone were similarly easy to crunch. And I could smell so much more, instead of just the light burnt smell of the marshmallow and the warm notes of the graham cracker.   

“Why do you have that look?” Deen asked, raising her perfectly trimmed golden brow.

As always, Amber Deen Leska, the scion of the wealthy Leska family—she hated being called a scion—was too beautiful, it was almost fake. She looked at me with gray eyes, quite an uncommon color. Her prominent cheekbones needed no makeup to highlight them, and they weren’t so sharp that she had a youthful vibe. Her well-defined jawline made her face look kind of heart-shaped, combined with her widow’s peak hairline.

In comparison, I didn’t have any of her mature charms. I was several inches shorter and very petite. If not for my wavy, black hair, I would’ve looked even smaller. Plain as could be, I was invisible when next to Deen.

“Just thinking about something,” I replied.

“It is about the PCM?” Deen asked. We returned to our homes Saturday morning and kept a low profile. Attending law school today, our lives were as normal as could be.

“Nothing so serious. It’s this smore.”

Deen stopped the car in front of a red light. “Is something wrong with it?” she asked, nodding at my smore. Strands of her golden hair strayed across her face. “We can return to the shop. I’ll complain if you’re too introverted to do it.”

After our law school classes, we passed by W&V, a new artisanal bakery that opened last week, to buy me something sweet. Deen’s treat. Something about returning the favor for saving her life. Yeah, I was like a kid, and Deen was my mom. But I didn’t care because it was free food. There was no replacing free food; if I bought it with my own money, it would no longer be free.

I shook my head. “I was just thinking something random about smores.”

“Let me guess—you were wondering if smores are supposed to be sandwiches or does smore refer to the marshmallow inside?”

“Not that. Did you know that ‘smores’ is a contraction of ‘some more’?”

Deen giggled. “Now, I do. Knowledge is power and so on.”

“But you bring up a good point,” I said while looking at my half-eaten smore. “A lot of people put burnt marshmallows on anything and call it smores-flavored, even though it’s supposed to be a cracker sandwich. Like, plop a marshmallow on beef, torch it for a bit, and voila, smoked smores steak. That’s not how it works.”

“Smores steak? Is that a thing?”

“Maybe? It’s a wide world. Someone is bound to have done a crazy idea like that. Anyway, my point is that a smore is more than just a toasted marshmallow. Don’t forget the graham crackers and the chocolate. It’s really supposed to be a sandwich.”

“If you say so, Miss Smores Expert,” said Deen, chuckling. “You’re too emotionally invested in this topic.”

“Everyone should be invested in the food we eat. Smores… people…”

“Erind!” Deen sharply said. She hated it when I joked about my Adumbrae self.

“Relax. I’m changing the topic. Why are graham crackers called that? Who is Graham? Inventor of this— Oh, it’s green light. We should go… Hang on.”

Deen didn’t drive forward despite the lights changing, and neither did the other cars beside us. A siren blared as a police car passed in front of us, leading a convoy of army trucks. They had the logo of the National Guard on their sides.

“Wow, they arrived here fast,” I said. “Didn’t the mayor announce around lunchtime that he was asking for aid from the National Guard? What’s the reason he gave?”

“To quell unrest,” Deen said, nodding. “There’s barely any unrest in the city. Even the PCM has stopped protesting, with many of its leaders arrested. My hunch is that the mayor is expecting unrest, and so, wanted the National Guard in position to deal with it.”

“Unrest because of what? News of the truth about the PCM getting out? The BID expanding its operations in the open to find Adumbrae, causing the people to panic? Maybe they’ll declare martial law or something. Too many possibilities.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t bode well for us,” Deen said. How noble of her to say ‘us’ instead of ‘you’, given that I was the target of the BID and not her. “Look, there’s a medical truck.”

“Things are really getting serious now, huh? I wonder what people will think of this?”

During the mayor’s announcement, he also said that they would begin distribution of…the pills.

I hadn’t lived in a place that had an Adumbrae attack before La Esperanza—technically, multiple attacks by now—so I hadn’t been personally offered those pills. But I had seen PSAs about them. It was a set of seven colored tablets, kind of like how Grandma arranged her maintenance medicine for the week, doled out to people to take once a day. 

They were special antidepressants to sort of make the population docile for a period, along with some other chemicals supposed to suppress parts of the brain susceptible to Adumbrae attack. At least, that was what the government said. Not sure if the pills were similar to the drugs that the PCM had been selling.

In the past, the government mandated the intake of the pills for those living in an area with widespread seeding. Unsurprisingly, most people protested, suspicious of whatever funky shit the pills could do to the mind. The case went all the way up to the Supreme Court, something we had touched upon in Constitutional Law class in the first semester, and the law was deemed unconstitutional.

The result: it was only distributed if an Adumbrae attack had widespread effects, and it was up to the citizens if they wanted to take it or not.

“Giving out the pills weeks after the Adumbrae attack,” Deen said, “is admitting there are more Adumbrae.”

“Well, that’s true. Not just Adumbrae. All sorts of non-humans. Two of them are in this car right now.”

Deen pursed her lips and glared at me. It would appear that I’d take the role of the Joker, while she’d be the uptight and grouchy character.

“Don’t be mad,” I said, grinning at her with chocolate stuck to my teeth. “I don’t talk about this stuff when other people could hear us. When it’s safe, we should relax.”

She sighed. “You’re right…” She drove forward after the convoy passed. “It’s just that I have to protect you, and there are so many people after you. We can’t be too careful about who might be listening.”

‘Have to’ protect me? I should be happy that Deen felt this strongly about keeping me safe, meaning that she’d be willing to risk her life for me. But after she had repeated various forms of that line a dozen times over the weekend, it was starting to get irritating. It made it sound like I couldn’t be trusted with myself. If I were taller, Deen wouldn’t treat me like a kid.

“What if we took the pills?” I asked, keeping down my irritation with Deen. “Maybe they’ll affect my seeding?”

“I doubt they’ll help you; the pills are for humans. It might cause serious side effects.”

“I guess you’re right…” I thought Deen would be desperate to try anything that could remotely be of any help in curing my seeding. She probably just didn’t trust the government.  

However, even if Deen agreed, I wouldn’t try the pills. For one, I’d have to line up to get some, and those lines could get very long from what I’d seen on TV. Hilariously, the people didn’t want the pills forced on them. But when they became optional, people flocked to them.

If there was a huge Adumbrae incident, like what happened here in La Esperanza, everyone panicked and did all sorts of things to ‘protect’ themselves from Adumbrae. Buying charms and amulets. Taking obviously bogus drugs like those sold by Dulce Maria. Conducting rituals found on the internet, and stuff like that. People didn’t need much convincing to take the colorful pills, anything to keep themselves safe from seeding.

In the end, the government somehow got what it wanted.

Another reason why I wouldn’t touch those pills was that I preferred it if no one tinkered with my mind. People who took them became more docile, as if they hit a blunt. None of that. My personality made me the main character—I’m perfect and cute, just the way I am.

Nonetheless, it was a good idea to curb rising stress levels that could affect the psychology of people and might lead to someone getting seeded. Maybe we’d have more real Adumbrae instead of the fake monsters that the 2Ms and PCM were making.

Conditions in the city, however, weren’t really conducive to reducing the stress and anxiety of the people.

Myra attacking various PCM offices, killing lots of people, gave rise to the rumors of another Adumbrae attack. Might as well be the truth.

The government’s response was to say nothing. No way the mayor would actually say that a month after the first Adumbrae attack and rumors of a second one at the docks. If he announced that the murders were committed by an augmented human or something, the people would accuse him of covering up the truth. His move was the right one.

Instead, the BID focused on cleansing social media of anything connected to the PCM incident. They then spread information about the PCM being a cover for a terrorist organization, the perfect excuse for mass arrest. Since many people were annoyed at the PCM always protesting and causing traffic, the PCM members’ claims of innocence fell on deaf ears.

The PR guys of the BID are doing a great job. I wanted to learn from them. Maybe a propagandist was the job for me? That was, if I could find a cure for my seeding someday.

“We’re on the right street, aren’t we?” Deen wondered, tapping the screen of her car to check the map. “Twenty minutes to Myra’s apartment? It’s just a few blocks away. There should be barely any traffic in this area.”

Early this morning, Myra felt safe enough to call Deen, asking for a meeting. Myra didn’t say it outright, but she sprinkled clues to confirm that Kelsey was staying with her. If Myra didn’t call, we would’ve gone to visit her place anyway, suspecting that Keke might’ve resurfaced and eaten Myra.

Fortunately, all was well, and everything was set for more drama. I couldn’t concentrate in my classes earlier because I was thinking of the script for the confrontation later. Lots of stuff to confront each other about.

“We’re barely moving,” I said, as we slowed to a crawl behind a long line of cars. Fifteen minutes later, we found the source of the traffic buildup. “There’s already a checkpoint here?”

The checkpoint up ahead comprised of five Guardsmen passing mirrors below cars, rummaging through trunks, and a dog sniffing around. Dogs couldn't smell an Adumbrae… or could they?

“Perhaps Kelsey was spotted by someone in this area,” Deen said. “This is an odd place for a checkpoint otherwise.”

“They’re setting up a huge bio scanner.” I pointed at people in white overalls setting up a machine on the sidewalk. “It doesn’t seem to be up yet.”

“We’ll have to find a different way to leave this place.”

Technically, people had the right to refuse to get scanned. It was the subject of a famous constitutional case that went all the way up to the Supreme Court—the ruling was that it didn’t encroach on the right to privacy that the American people loved so much, but it did violate the protection of the Fifth Amendment against self-incrimination.

Now, while people could refuse without explaining themselves, it’d be pretty suspicious if someone did. We could be placed on a suspect list or something. It was just better to avoid the scanners later.

“Act natural,” Deen whispered to me as our turn came.

“What do you mean? I’m not doing anything—that’s natural for me.”

“Hide your hand.”

“Oh, really? I hadn’t thought of that,” I sarcastically said. It was tempting to tease Deen when she was in serious mode. “Maybe I should show—”

“Shush! They’re here.” Deen rolled down our window so that the Guardsmen could see there was a goddess inside the car. Her image stunned them for a moment, then they remembered that they had work to do and had to look good while doing it.

As they searched the bottom of our car and the trunk, they glanced several times at Deen. They probably didn’t even notice that I was in the passenger seat.

“Is this going to take long?” Deen asked in a cutesy, high-pitched voice. “I’m on my way to visit my sick mother.”

“We’re done, ma’am. Have a nice day!”

“Take care on your way to your mom,” said another Guardsman. His buddy beside him elbowed him.

The Guardsman in front of our car stepped aside and gave us a thumbs up. Well, not exactly “us’, more like at Deen. She flashed her perfect smile at the stupidly grinning guy, giving him a wave to remember her by. Hey, that rhymed! He saluted her, which I think was the appropriate reaction to Deen’s beauty. As for me, I waved at the dog.

It excitedly wagged its tail, drool dripping down from its lolling tongue. That answered the question if dogs could detect something wrong with me. Or it probably wasn’t trained for that.

(Author’s Notes: We start Book 3 with two of the Four Bs on the way to meet the other two. Amazing that we’re already on Book 3. We might complete it before REND rewrite’s anniversary this May 20. A trilogy in a year? That’s a good pace. The Four Bs could test Pino’s powers here, and maybe name Pino. So far, I like the name ‘Pino’, but maybe you have other suggestions? Thank you so much for your support! Onward with Book 3!)