by Rory Power
My right leg numb, my vision darker and darker. Won’t be long.
* * *
—
It’s just the way I remember it being.
Through the lobby all emptiness and disarray and familiarity think think Byatt don’t you know
and then around around around corners and there to the dented door
To the outside
To winter sweet and cold and just for me
* * *
—
I make it as far as I can
Stick close to the wall I scrunch down at the base and press my back against it wrap my jacket around me tight clutch the iris to my heart
I can see it coming like a wave cresting like the sun rising like a train down the tracks like a bullet like
like home or
won’t it be better this way won’t it be better
* * *
—
Sun rising in the trees
Slanting through in pale streams
I’ve done what I could I’ve tried how I’ve tried
* * *
—
Breathe in breathe out
Keep my eyes open as long as I can I want to see I want to look I want
the woods to fall away
the ocean to crawl up to my feet
the island to come drifting in on the tide
Raxter don’t forget Raxter
It will be like sea glass I will bend down I will look into the rippled surface of it I will see myself suspended inside I will know exactly where I am
I will cradle it in my palms until it dries until the edges have worn off until it has stopped being beautiful
(Roaring a roaring a rush it is coming)
I will keep it anyway
HETTY
CHAPTER 17
“Time. Come on.”
I sit up so fast my head slams against the top bunk. I’d laid awake all night alone in our room, and when I did manage any sleep, it was fitful with nightmares of Mr. Harker, of him turning into Reese.
“Seriously.” It’s Julia, leaning in the doorway. I peer behind her, looking for Welch—she’s supposed to be the one who wakes us—but Julia’s alone. “We don’t have all day.”
“Where’s Welch?” I ask, trying not to sound as nervous as I feel.
“Busy. Get up.”
I breathe deep. It’s just Boat Shift as usual. If Welch knew I broke quarantine and followed her out, I’d be in trouble already.
I rub the crust from my blind eye, take a second to let my vision adjust, and follow Julia down the hallway, half in gloom with the sun not up yet. Somewhere behind me Reese is sleeping in one of the empty dorms.
I keep my gaze resolutely ahead, ignore the pang in my chest. She made herself clear.
We step out onto the mezzanine. Below us I can see Carson standing by the door. She’s got her coat on—she’s always so cold—and she waves when she sees us. But Julia pulls me aside at the top of the stairs.
“Welch and Headmistress were down in the main hall when I came to get you. They’re pissed about something.” She leans over the railing to see the rest of the hall. “I’d rather not get caught in the crossfire.”
It could be about a million things, I tell myself. About dwindling supplies, about managing schedules, about the broken generators. But then Headmistress comes striding out of the hallway leading to the office, Welch on her heels, and it’s clear that it’s not any of those things at all. They look too wrecked for it to be about anything but our most important rule—they must know someone broke quarantine. Maybe they don’t know it was us, but they know it happened.
Welch catches up to Headmistress and they stop, talk in low, strained voices. Headmistress’s hands, shaking so hard I can see it from here. A flush spreading down Welch’s neck.
“Looks intense,” Julia says.
“Headmistress probably found out we weren’t saving her any of the chocolate delivery,” I say, smiling tightly and pushing past her. “Aren’t you the one who said we don’t have all day?”
Headmistress is gone by the time we get downstairs. Welch is a mess in her wake, French braid loose and wispy, blood leaking from the corner of her mouth. Usually, she likes to look as neat as Headmistress, but today there’s a pink stain ringing her lips.
“Let’s go,” she says.
Julia clears her throat. “Hetty and I need our stuff.”
“Well, hurry up, then.” She’s not even looking at us. It should be a relief, proof she doesn’t know it was me, but all it does is set my teeth on edge.
Julia grabs my sleeve and hustles me down the hall to the closet, where we store the jackets and supplies. She pulls open the door, checks the clip in her pistol, counts the bullets while I do up the clasps across the front of my coat. I’m yanking the red hat down low across my forehead when Julia reaches deep into the closet, under a stack of blankets, and fishes out a pistol twin to hers.
“Here.” She holds it out to me, eyebrows raised expectantly.
“No, I didn’t have this last time.”
“I know. Nobody did.”
I eye the pistol warily. Is this a trap somehow? “Did Welch tell you to—”
“Look,” Julia says, “you were on Gun Shift, right?”
“Yeah,” I say, “but we didn’t use pistols.”
Julia barrels on. “And I’ve seen you out in the barn. You’re a good shot. I need a good shot out there today.”
“What for?” I press, Mr. Harker’s face hovering at the edge of my sight.
“I mean, did you see her?” She must be talking about Welch. “She’s gonna lose it. Maybe she already has.”
I swallow hard, look down. Bite back the urge to explain. Julia’s right. Welch is on the verge, and what if she finds out it was me who broke quarantine? What’ll she do then?
I take the gun. Grip ridged into my palm.
“Hide that under your coat,” Julia says. “I don’t want her knowing you have it.”
On a different day it would be a strange thing to say, because we don’t do that—we don’t keep things from Welch, and we don’t defend ourselves against her. But it’s today, and I’ve seen her leave Mona’s body in the woods, and I don’t think anything surprises me anymore.
Back in the main hall, Carson is shifting from foot to foot while Welch paces in front of the door. Julia beckons to Carson, who comes rushing over, a grateful smile on her face.
“Okay?” says Julia.
“She hasn’t said anything,” Carson says, nodding at Welch. “She’s been doing that the whole time.”
She doesn’t know. I keep repeating it to myself. She doesn’t know it was you. You have no reason to be afraid. But I’m still grateful when Julia takes her spot next to Welch and leaves me to walk with Carson.
We pass the bulletin board, tap the note from the Navy for luck, and then it’s out the front doors and onto the path. Through the gate, with Carson just behind me, Welch and Julia ahead, and as we follow the road deeper into the woods, Julia looks back at me. The gun skin-warm. I feel the press of it with every step.
* * *
—
We reach the pier before midday. The whole way I kept my eye on the road, afraid any glimpse of the woods would put me back there with Mr. Harker, his heart still beating in my hands. Here, it’s blessedly open, sky stretching above us, endless and gray. Caution tape snapping in a brisk wind, waves smacking hard against the boards. Carson’s tucked her hair down her jacket to keep it out of her face. I take my hat off, stuff it into the bag I’m carrying so it doesn’t blow away.
“They better come soon,” Julia says. That exhaustion from yesterday is back, leeching the life from her voice, and when she coughs it’s a horrible, hacking sound. “It’s freezing today.”
“We could wait in the trees. For shelter.” Carson’s teeth are chattering. I think of how her lips felt against my cheek our first trip out. I wonder if her blood still runs as warm as mine or if the Tox took that from her.
Julia shakes her head. “Safer out here. This way we can see if anything’s coming for us.”
Welch hasn’t moved since we arrived. She’s staring out at the horizon, squinting at the nothingness where the mainland sometimes is. It’s too gray today to see anything, but she’s trying anyway.
She didn’t say a word the whole walk across the island. I was grateful at first, but now it’s making me uneasy. I want to keep watch, try to get a read on what she’s thinking, but I can’t look at her too long. I’m worried she’ll see the guilt all over my face. Instead, I step back so I’m even with Carson, and press in close.
“Warmer this way,” I say when she looks taken aback.
Welch has started pacing again. Back and forth, back and forth. The last time we were out, she had a gun. I can’t see one now, but if there’s one hidden on me, there could be one hidden on her. Julia shuffles a few steps away from the pier, closer to me and Carson.
Sharp, breaking, a seagull’s cry in the air. I look up, draw in a quick breath. One is circling above us, wings dark against the sky, and soon there are two more. Just like last time, how they showed up just before the tug. They know it’s coming.
It’s a minute or two before we hear the foghorn, muted and almost hollow. Welch stops pacing, whips around to face the horizon. There’s a wildness in her eyes I’ve never seen before, one that’s all her own.
“Get ready, girls,” she says.
Another bellow of the foghorn, and the tug appears through the mist. The seagulls are collecting now, cries overlapping. I want to cover my ears, but Julia nods to me and I follow her up to the start of the pier, Carson trailing behind.
It’s the same as before. The long, slow turn and the familiar markings. There’s nobody on the tail, and the closer the tug gets, the more we can see the emptiness. No high stacks of cartons. No pallets of canned food. Just what looks like one box, with bright markings on the sides.
I look over at Julia. She’s chewing hard on the inside of her cheek. “Does this happen sometimes?”
She shakes her head, says something, and the tug motor is so loud I can barely hear her, but the grim line of her mouth is enough.
A grinding and screech as the crane starts up. Hooks a crate—the only crate—and swings it out over the pier. Last time they let it drop, but today they lower it all the way down and only release when it’s settled. The crane reels back in, chain rattling, and then the final foghorn blast, ringing in my ears long after.
We watch the tug kick up a big wake as it moves away. Last time we could barely keep ourselves back. Now nobody wants to be the first to move.
I peer around Julia at Welch. Jaw clenched, a tear streaking down her cheek, its track glassy and freezing, and she’s shaking her head. I’ve never seen her like this before, not when the Tox started, not even when a girl broke her arm during my first semester and had the bone poking all the way through her skin.
“Well?” She wheels around to stare at us, and I can’t help a quick step away from the redness of her eyes. “What are you waiting for?”
Julia smiles. “After you.”
A beat, the air so quiet I can hear Carson’s shaky breathing, and then Welch brushes past us, knocking against Julia as she goes. We follow her onto the pier. Boards whining underneath us, and the wind picking up.
We walk three abreast behind Welch, and I look down over the side of the pier, into the ocean. It’s a vivid, sick green today, layered with foam. I shift closer to Carson, safe in the middle.
The carton is smaller than the ones from my last trip, and it’s not wood, like the others were, but something else. Plastic, maybe. Smooth, gray, and curved at the corners, with two sets of buckles holding the lid down. There’s a symbol on the lid that I don’t recognize. Bright orange, a little smudged, like it was spray-painted through a stencil. Almost the biohazard symbol—that set of interlocking near-circles we all know by now—but not quite.
“Okay,” Welch says, holding out one hand. “Wait here.”
I’m happy to stay away. That box is too polished, too manufactured. Nothing like that belongs here, and I almost don’t want to know what’s inside. But Julia is stepping forward alongside Welch.
“Let me help,” she says, and looks over her shoulder at me as she and Welch head for the box. I touch the waistband of my jeans, where my gun is, and nod. Bad enough when it was just Welch to worry about, but this is worse.
Near the end of the pier the boards are weathered black, algae creeping across them in green webs. Carson and I hang back, and I swallow my unease, undo the bottom clasp on my jacket to make it easier to reach my pistol.
“Should we take the whole box back?” Julia says. The wind is carrying her voice back to me, thin and skittering.
“No.” Welch crouches down and lays her hand flat on the top, like she’s feeling for movement. “We’ll open it here.”
Julia stays standing, and we watch Welch’s shoulders heave as she unlatches the last set of buckles, tendons straining in her arms.
The light on the rim of the lid blinks green. The lid springs up an inch or two, like a catch has released. Welch lifts it gingerly, her face turned away.
I can’t see inside. I can only see Julia’s frown deepen, can only see the way Welch slumps forward to rest her head in her hands.
“What is it?” Carson asks.
Nobody answers, so I step closer. Inside the box is a bed of black foam. And nestled snugly in the center is a small canister, glimmering chrome, maybe the size of my fist. It looks like a miniaturized oxygen tank, the kind you see people wheeling around in hospitals, but the valve is sealed shut with bright red tape, the same symbol from the lid emblazoned in a repeating pattern.
Something inside me recoils, and I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry.
“I don’t understand.” Carson is peering over my shoulder, her cheeks so pale it makes me nervous. “What is that?”
Julia doesn’t take her eyes off of Welch. “A cure, maybe?”
“I doubt it,” I say. Wouldn’t they tell us if it were? Wouldn’t they come?
“Where’s the food?” Carson says, louder now. “Where’s—”
Julia cuts her off. “It’s obviously not coming.”
Welch’s whole body is shaking, and I can hear a muffled sound, a strangled kind of sob from deep in her chest, the cold air cutting a ragged edge to her breathing.
“We don’t have enough food at home.” Carson steps around me. “What are we gonna do?”
And before I can stop her, she grabs Welch’s shoulder.
Welch rears up and swings around fast, her arm knocking Carson’s. She backs away from us so fast I worry she might go over the side. “Don’t,” she says.
“I’m sorry.” Carson’s chin trembles. “I didn’t mean—”
“Do you understand?” Welch is looking back and forth between us and Julia, and as the wind pushes her hair back, I see blood trailing down her chin from where she’s bitten her lip.
Julia smiles easily and says, “Sure we do.” I know that tone, know a lie when I hear one. She’s trying to keep things calm, but she’s got her hand in the pocket of her coat where she’s stashed her pistol.
“No, you don’t. That’s—” And Welch’s voice snaps in half, comes back low and rough. “That’s the end of it. The food, us, everything. They’re never coming back.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course they are.” Julia’s getting closer to Welch, one hand outstretched, and she sounds like somebody’s mother. Patient, and controlled, because someone here has to be, and we’re children, but we stopped being kids a year and a half ago.
> “Not after yesterday,” Welch says. “Somebody broke the quarantine.”
I can barely hear the wind over the roaring in my ears. This is it. She knows, she knows, and I’m about to find myself with her gun pressed to my temple.
I would do it again, I think. To be sure that Byatt’s alive.
“Who?” Julia asks. Surprise widening her eyes, stopping her in her tracks. I hold my breath. “Who did it?”
“I don’t know,” Welch says, and relief is thrumming sweet in my veins. “But it doesn’t matter.” Her face is wet, tears blown back across her cheeks and a long string of spit stuck to her chin. “Camp Nash has always been clear. We’re too high-risk. One strike and it’s all over.”
One strike. Me and Reese, we’re the reason the dock is empty. We’re the reason we have no food, no supplies, no nothing. Shame burns hot on my cheeks, and I duck my chin behind my collar.
“They’re not gonna just disappear,” Julia says.
Welch shakes her head. “That canister? It’s the end. Whatever’s inside is designed to kill us.”
No. No, she’s wrong. They wouldn’t do that to us. They said they’d help. They promised.
“How do you know?” Julia says. Carson is starting to crumple, leaning heavily against me, and I push aside my own panic, take hold of her forearm and give it a reassuring squeeze.
Welch nods at the box. “The symbol.”
I glance at the canister quickly, afraid to look for too long.
“You could be wrong.” Julia is doing her best, but the defiance is leeching out of her.
“I’m not. I’m really not.” Welch scrubs at the tears scudding down her cheeks. “They gave it a shot, right? Gave it the good old college try. And now they’re calling it. No matter what I do, I can’t protect you girls.”
Protect us from what? From the Tox? From whatever’s in that box? I look to Julia, but she’s just as lost as I am, my rising terror mirrored on her face. This is more than we can handle. But the only person who could help us is Welch.
