One week.

What did it mean for the fly, and for Sam? Ty wanted to know.

Damon voiced a hypothesis: "Flies can live up to a month or more in the wild, but this one only lived a week indoors, one-fourth of its natural lifespan."

"But it's only one fly. Plus, you said you didn't know how the shit-eater died," Sam said what Ty was thinking.

"Most likely, it died from an indiscernible error during the composition process, and it wasn't the only fly." Here, he opened a large container to reveal cache of dead flies. "I made lots, all at the same time, to be sure. They all lived for seven days, and on the seventh day, they convulsed for a short period before dying."

"How long do I have?" Sam asked.

Damon considered her answer the way he might consider food items on a menu. "A woman's average lifespan is eighty-six years, so one-fourth of that, maybe less."

"Twenty years?" Sam clarified.

"Twenty-one point five," Damon said.

"Twenty-one point five," she repeated.

Her voice slurred, which meant she was thinking, barely there.

Understandably, Sam stayed home from work the next day, and the next two days. Pen didn't mind. The store was low on hours. Three people were constantly on the schedule: Ty, Wallace, and Martine.

It was a slow Tuesday morning, thus they needed little in the way of help. All the same, Ty inquired about Antoinella, who he hadn't seen lately.

"She has one day of work this week," Martine said.

There was no hint of her usual smile as she spoke, and she wasn't willing to answer when Ty asked why Antoinella was working less hours. Eventually, she did do one thing to answer his question: Marilyn pointed up. Up meant the ceilings, and the ceilings meant the cameras. Likely, Martine didn't mind Pen watching, but more than likely, Pen wasn't the only one watching anymore.

In the lull between customers, Ty went to speak with Pen. He asked about the schedule, and why it was so thin before Halloween. Pen adopted his familiar candid attitude. Through him, Ty learned nearly all the new hires were being let go after Halloween. Even Antoinella and others with seniority were getting cut. Good Time planned to keep Ty, Wallace, Martine, and Sam.

"Why Sam?"

Ty couldn't figure it. She was a new hire, like the others. Unlike the others, she had called out numerous times and was often late coming in for shifts. Of all the new hires to keep, Sam was an odd choice.

Pen wouldn't look at him. Lying wasn't one of his talents.

"I like her."

"Antoinella's been her longer." Ty was used to pressing Pen until he caved. "Why does Sam take precedence?"

Barely a second passed before Pen gestured in surrender. "Okay, the Prominents asked me to keep her on, alright? I don't understand their reasoning, but I do follow orders."

Orders. It was a word-choice that stuck in Ty's mind. Orders were what people followed when they had no choice, when they were being told what to do, or else. If Pen refused Prominent orders, Ty could imagine what sort of an or else might follow.

Pen stared at Ty's creased brown, anticipating further questioning.

"They're here if you wanna ask them in detail about their choice of employees."

Ty was startled. "Why are they here?"

"For you." Pen made it sound obvious, when it really wasn't. "They originally wanted to talk to Sam, but since she's still out sick, they said you would do."

They knew she was staying with him. Ty wasn't surprised, but the Prominent's level of knowledge was disquieting.

"Uh---I don't know what I can tell them."

The Agents waited by the break table. They weren't sipping coffee, chatting it up, or scrolling through their interfaces. Instead, they were standing and staring in Ty's direction, as though waiting on him was their sole desire. Such absolute concentration. It wasn't natural.

Their questioning began natural enough. First, Agent Crendan asked him about his day, his family, and his work. Ty had answered similar questions when Sam had been found all those months ago. He wondered why he had to go over his life-story a second time, but he was glad for the routine questions. Anything to evade talking about the felony he had committed in creating a human being.

Eventually, the questions progressed. Sam was mentioned, and Ty's hands started shaking. He hoped the Agents didn't notice.

When they asked about Sam's three day absence from work, he could have kicked himself in the ovaries for not being better prepared.

Ovaries? Ugh, it was something Sam would've said. Ty smiled.

"What's the joke?" Crendan put her interface away.

"No joke." He dropped his smile. "Sam's been sick with a stomach virus, probably caught it from playing with Helia."

Crendan found the information relevant. As the conversation shifted back to Sam, she pulled her interface back out. Hers wasn't the standard clear model floating around in every citizens hand. Crendan's interface was an onyx oval. Ty saw white words scrolling across its mercury surface, and then he heard it speak.

"Audio record in progress."

"Are you fucking her?"

At Crendan's question, he stopped admiring the black interface. If they had meant to intimidate him, it was working beautifully.

"No, I'm not." Something snapped in him, forcing him to ask of the recording device, "Is that legal?"

Crendan stared at him. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Her partner hadn't spoken, and it seemed like he never would.

Ty wished he had the option of not speaking, too.

"I don't know," he ended up muttering.

The woman smirked. "Pretty defensive for a guy who denies sleeping with his roommate."

"If I'm defensive, it's because I'm married. I don't cheat on my wife."

Crendan hit him with the major one: "Then why did your wife leave?"

All of the conspiracy theorists were right. Prominents had their thumbs in all the pies. Phone taps. O-plane spies. Telecommunications on watch. Even Ty's small corner of the universe wasn't safe from their Prominent-ly prying eyes.

"Did Pen tell you that?"

Ty didn't know why he asked. He hadn't told Pen. No one at work knew of Jenn's departure, except for Wallace. And Wallace didn't gossip.

"Answer the question," Crendan said. "Why did your wife leave?"

The humiliating heat of tears threatened, but Ty pushed them back.

"She's an alcoholic, a group of people not known for their stability."

The two agents exchanged glances. They weren't speaking, but there was a type of communication occurring. A decision about Ty was being sussed out. Crendan broke off from the intense stare to type into her interface.

Then she said, "We'll be paying Sam a visit soon. See how she's doing."

"I'll let her know."

Ty walked away, glad to be done with the robots.

On top of all his other worries, now he had to worry about Prominents knocking on his door. They had interviewed Sam twice before deciding her to be the victim of a mugging, possibly a sexual assault. Was it standard procedure for agents to follow up on crime victims, even months after? Ty didn't think so, but he wasn't sure because it was the first time he had to deal with Prominent agents. Hopefully, it'd be the last time.

~*~

A/N: Of course it's not the last time. If it was, that'd be boring.

On an unrelated note, be sure to follow BookshelfBattle, a reviewer, blogger, and writer with titles like How the West Was Zombed. Flippin' bears repeating: How the West Was Zombed. 

https://www.wattpad.com/story/60588015-how-the-west-was-zombed-book-1-of-the-zombie