by Pike, JJ
“You can’t stop them.” Tamsen cut in. She was so smug it was hard to like her. “They came to the decision fair and square. You had your time. It’s our time now.”
That wasn’t what she’d meant. They’d thought it through, debated, taken a vote—all that was true. In a sense they’d been more rational than the adults of Down. But they were kids facing a pathogen they didn’t understand. It was a false correlation, imagining they’d survive because Patient Zero had recovered. How to explain? Make them see? Get them away from the door? If anyone should open it, it should be her. With them far from the infection zone.
“Lend me your shoulder. I need something to lean on.”
“Theo wouldn’t like that.”
‘Theo wouldn’t like that? Theo wouldn’t like that?! Well, Theo, I don’t give a rat’s whether you like it or not. I am in charge of Down and you’re going to listen to me or I’m going to know why.’ No. She couldn’t say that. Weak ending. She needed to have a compelling argument lined up by the time she got to the doors.
The single fact in her favor was that Triple-H had barely made a start on unsealing the door. If the kids got the blowtorch working they had at least an hour of work ahead of them before that door came off its hinges. She had time to turn the ship around. They needed to listen to her. No. Not just listen. They needed to heed what she had to say. More, Jacinta. Say what you mean. Take charge. Stop hedging. They needed to OBEY.
Jacinta pawed her way through the neatly-folded packets of medicine on her bedside. Patrice had left her antibiotics and pain meds. She unfolded a sheet of tissue paper which held a 5-miligram tab of oxy. She didn’t have anything to wash it down with but she swallowed hard and hoped for the best, stuffing the rest of the hand-made sachets in her pockets for later. She couldn’t wait for the painkiller to kick in. She had to move or be solely responsible for the obliteration of the next generation. The wall was going to have to be her crutch. Tamsen sure as hell wasn’t going to lend a hand. As long as she didn’t move her right side she’d be fine. Tall order when you’re walking. It’s only when you injure something that you realize how often you use it; how the body works as a whole; how you can’t swing your legs without swinging your arms and when you swing your arms you want to howl down the ceiling.
Tamsen walked beside her. Not only did she offer no assistance, she gave a running commentary that made Jacinta want to punch the child.
“Miss Erlichman says corruption breeds corruption. She says there’s an intrinsic—that means it’s natural; like we’re born with it—there’s an intrinsic wickedness to Man’s nature. And Triple-H says ‘men’ means men and women because ‘men’ are part of ‘wo-men.’ Hahahahahahaha.” She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. It didn’t seem to matter that Jacinta was sweating and swearing under her breath as she huffed her way along the edge of the sick bay, Tamsen kept up her goodie-goodie two-shoes lecture. “We have to fight against the wicked nature that we’re born with or we’ll be the bad apple that makes the other apples bad.” She put her hand on Jacinta’s arm which sent pain shooting up to her shoulder and back down to her wrist. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I understand.” The acrid burn in the back of her throat was unending and her mouth filled with bile. She needed more oxy and something to wash it down with. “Get me some water.”
“Theo said…”
“I don’t care what Theo said,” she barked. “Get me some water. Denying me water is ‘cruel and unusual,’ do you know where that comes from?”
In the half-light of the abandoned sick bay Jacinta could see Tamsen nodding and gulping.
“Do you wish to inflict punishment on me? If so, I wish to know what I have been charged with…”
Tamsen didn’t move. She tapped her finger on the edge of the bed closest to her, rolling her eyes toward the rock ceiling. She was thinking up friggin’ charges.
“Who made you judge, jury, and executioner?” Jacinta panted against the wall while Tamsen scampered off to do as she was told. She’d been Tamsen—tractable, obedient, sponge-like—so it wasn’t hard to work out where to press to get a result. The guilt button wasn’t difficult to find on a people-pleaser. Pressing it deliberately would ordinarily have given her a twinge in the place where her conscience lived, but in this hour and this place her normal reticence slumbered far beneath the pain, leaving her free to say what needed to be said.
She took a quick look around the room. No Dominic. That meant he’d been ejected back into Down. Mistake. Jeff would come with guns and knives and pitchforks and rabid villagers, beat down the doors, hijack the mission, and kill the Outers. She couldn’t let that happen.
Tamsen returned with a glass of water. “Seeing as you asked…”
Jacinta fumbled with another packet of meds. The papers fluttered to the floor taking with them sweet relief. “Pick them up. Open two oxy and hand them to me. No arguments.”
Tamsen did as she was ordered.
Jacinta washed the pills down with a glorious slug of water. If she gagged and died on that nectar she’d die a happy woman.
“You think it’s okay to bully people.” Tamsen was close to tears.
“I wasn’t bullying. I was being firm.”
“No.” Tamsen’s glasses slid down her sweaty nose.
Jacinta had almost allowed herself to forget that she was dealing with a kid who had a complex blend of emotions and hormones that raged through her body making her an easy target for anyone who wanted to bend her to their will. She owed the girl an apology.
Tamsen blurted out her hurt before Jacinta had a chance to formulate what she wanted to say. “You think you know what’s best for everyone, but you don’t. You have to learn to listen better. Miss Erlichman’s an excellent listener. She wouldn’t vote to leave anyone outside. She’s not like you. She’s kind. She gets it.”
From the far end of the sick bay came a loud hiss. The blowtorch had been activated.
Jacinta took a couple of steps.
“You say you’re protecting people by leaving them out there, but who? Who are you protecting?” Tamsen’s voice wavered.
Jacinta steadied herself with one hand on the wall. Had she ever been that idealistic? Probably. Weren’t we all, once? Didn’t we want everyone to have a fair shake? As far as she was concerned, what any single person did with that shake was up to them, but she’d made her pact with Alistair—to change the world, one person at a time—for reasons not dissimilar to Tamsen’s. Work for your keep. Eat what you grow. Share with your neighbor. Slackers are shown the door once they show their colors. Not the mentally or physically impaired. They were in a different category, according to Alistair. Wolfjaw took care of those who were incapable of taking care of themselves. But as for the firm of limb and sound of mind? They had to carry their weight.
Tamsen was still talking while Jacinta took her walk down memory lane.
Their narration wasn’t all that different. We’re all in this together. We’re only as strong as our weakest link. If we don’t pull together the walls aren’t raised and the barn isn’t built. And so on.
The first wave of oxy was beginning to work its magic. Jacinta rotated her shoulder and didn’t pass out. She was going to make it. “You’re okay, you know that?”
Tamsen clammed up.
“I’m glad Miss Erlichman is teaching you to speak your mind. I respect that. I do. I don’t expect you to agree or to understand my point of view, but it’s my job to keep you children safe…”
“See?” Tamsen burst into tears. “You’re still not listening. We don’t want the kind of world that excludes people because they’re ‘not us’ or because they might make us sick. We want to make Wolfjaw Down a better place…a fairer place…a nicer place. We want Down to feel like a home for everyone…”
Jacinta, by dint of being a couple of decades older than Tamsen, managed to keep her mouth shut. What she wanted to say was, “It’s no use caring about the world we’ve built if you
’re all dead.”
“I would die for your right to your opinion.”
Jacinta had to bow her head and look away for fear Tamsen would see her smile. The young; they think they’re willing to give up their lives because they have no concept of death. Death is far away. In the future. For old people. Not for them. Saying she’d die for democracy was like a dog saying it would fold your laundry or do the dishes. No, scratch that one. She’d had a dog, Pogo, when she was a kid, who’d licked their plates whenever she could. In Pogo’s little doggie mind he doubtlessly thought they were clean.
“Don’t laugh.” Tamsen thumped the mattress closest to her. She might as well have stamped her foot.
“I’m not laughing.”
“You’re horrible. You don’t listen. You sneer. You’re whispering and plotting and making decisions behind our backs all the time. I don’t know why Theo didn’t tell you the whole truth…”
Interesting. Jacinta stopped dragging herself along the wall. She’d barely made it fifteen feet from her bed, but she needed to rest a while and listen. Now that Tamsen was aflame with righteous anger she wouldn’t hold back.
“You’re useless as a leader. You’re only in charge because Alistair liked you. If you hadn’t been his bitch no one would have voted for you…”
Jacinta had never hit a child before, but then she’d never been called a bitch by a twelve-year-old. The two surely went hand in hand?
You’re weak-willed.” Tamsen got into Jacinta’s space. “‘Vacillating’ is the word they use for you. I had to look it up, but when I did I laughed for half an hour because it’s true. You’re a pointless waste of space. As useful to us as warm jello on a plate. You slide around and slip from one idea to another because you don’t have any ideas of your own…”
Who was she quoting now? It sounded pretty damning and she needed to know who it was coming from.
“It isn’t just Jeff who thinks you should go. It’s EVERYONE.” She was shouting, spit gathering at the sides of her mouth.
Jacinta turned away. Best thing to do to a rabid dog. Walk away. Don’t let it get its teeth into you. Tamsen was blowing off steam. There’d be time later to ask Trish, her go-to source for news and gossip, who’d said what to whom. It was a little worrying that Trish had never repeated any of this to her sooner, but Tamsen was probably blowing it out of all proportion. It could have been a single adult saying all those things.
“They had a trial for Dominic Casey while you were over in your little cave, snoring your head off.”
Wow. She’d slept through some important stuff.
“He was convicted of crimes against Down, including kidnapping, attempted murder, assault and a whole bunch of other things. He’s going to be put out when the doors are opened.”
Jacinta squinted at “What happened to wanting a happy place for everyone, Tamsen?”
“I HATE YOU.”
It was only then, with a twelve-year-old weeping uncontrollably, that Jacinta remembered that Tamsen’s folks had been killed. Her father, Arthur Foss, had gone hunting for Alice Everlee’s silver. When he’d gone missing her mom, Gail, and her other brother, Will, had gone after him. They’d never returned. Tamsen was an orphan left to fend for herself. It was cruel to bait her.
“Tamsen…”
The doors to the surgical suite burst open. Triple-H—drenched in blood, face contorted, hair wild—pointed at her. “With me. Now.”
Jacinta hobbled after him. The painkillers had taken the edge off, but that wasn’t the same as being pain-free. She didn’t want to jangle the wrong nerve and set it off again.
Triple-H strode across the room. Five strides to her four hundred shuffle-steps. “Arm around my neck.” He stood on her good side and waited. Jacinta did as she was told. “Tamsen. Go help Theo. We want those doors open and closed before Jeff and his thugs get here.”
Tamsen wiped her eyes on her sleeves and trotted toward the sound of the blowtorch.
Triple-H dragged Jacinta a few paces. Stopped. Picked her up and marched the two of them back to the surgery. He lowered her into a chair beside the window that looked in on the proceedings. “You’re going to do the honors.”
“Sorry?”
“You’re the captain of this ship, right?”
“I’m sorry, Hunter. I’m still not following.”
“The bullet went into her gut. We know what that means. Even if she makes it through surgery her chances of recovery are slim. Patrice can keep that room sterile, but it’s going to be in high demand in half an hour. They’ll move Charis into the sick bay furthest from the main doors, but even then her chances of survival go down.”
“I didn’t want to let them all in, Hunter. You know that.”
“Hunter knows you’re…oh, screw it. I know you didn’t want to, but you won’t have a choice. We don’t have a test. No screening protocol means we don’t know who has been infected and who hasn’t. And? So? You only allow Liam entry? What if he has MELT in his system already? BOOM. We have infection. Let one in? Let them all in? It doesn’t matter. You see?”
Jacinta nodded. She wanted to say something about the odds, but he was frantic. His eyes had never left the hospital bed where the woman he loved had been carved open, dug into, and sewn shut. Now wasn’t the time to quibble. “Sorry, H. I know what she meant to you.”
“Means to me,” he said. “She’s not dead yet. Present tense, please.”
Jacinta bowed her head. Today had shown her, repeatedly, that she was a terrible leader and here she was, being a terrible friend. When this debacle was over she needed to step down. She wasn’t cut out for this and she’d always known it.
Triple-H smoothed his bloodied shirt down his front and ran his crusty hand over his hair to flatten it. “One of the things I love about you, Jacinta Baule, is that you’re not a politician. You don’t think like a politician. You don’t act like a politician. You’re a real person, warts and all. But in this case—with one third of your Downers demanding the doors stay shut, a third demanding they be opened, and the final segment of society on a witch hunt—you needed to play the politician. You can lay this one at my feet. Say I opened the doors. Stay in power. They already think I’m nuts, so…”
Patrice rounded the corner, undoing the back of her gown and pulling off her hairnet. “She’s doing well. No bleeding. Breathing is steady. Blood pressure’s good. Now we watch and wait.”
Triple-H nodded. “You ready?” He straightened himself and nodded in Jacinta’s direction. “Patrice is going to stand in for Charis.”
Jacinta frowned. “In what regard?”
“I told you. You officiate. Stand up. Make it look official. We might be in a cave, under threat, my true love dying, but I want you to pretend we’re in the Chapel of Love in Vegas, Elvis blasting over the speakers, me in my Sunday best and Charis coming down the aisle like the angel she is, wreathed in peach frills and baby’s breath, just the way she’d like it.”
“You want me to marry you?” Jacinta righted herself. The meds were coursing through her veins making her feel, not invincible, but at least stand-up-able.
“You’re the captain. This is your ship. You are permitted to officiate and it will be legally binding. She liked it old style. You know what I mean, with the ‘dearly beloveds’ and all that. Proceed.”
Patrice stood at Triple-H’s side, a smile at the ready.
“What’s her full name?”
“Charis Flora Erlichman.”
Jacinta smiled. Charis had been named for her grandmother, Flora McAlistair. A nicer woman you could not meet. She took in the strays, fed them up, always had a kind word for everyone. No wonder Charis had ended up a schoolteacher. Best people on Earth. “And yours?”
“Hunter Hensworth Higgs II.”
“I can’t say any of the religious bits. I’m not a pastor…”
“Just do it.”
Jacinta racked her brain. What did she know of the “old style” weddings. Only what she’d seen on T
V a million years ago. “Dearly beloved…”
Triple-H bowed his head. Patrice, standing in for Charis, followed suit.
“Dearly beloved. We are gathered here today, in the company of these fine people, to join together this man and…” She stumbled. Should it be “this” or “that?”
“Just pretend Patrice is Charis. It’ll work. I promise.” Triple-H didn’t raise his head. He was an outstanding intellect. She needed to hand the reigns to him.
“To join together this man and this woman. Repeat after me… I Charis..”
“You need to ask for the rings.” Triple-H produced them from his pocket.
Jacinta turned them over in her palm. They were heavy. Ornate. Hand crafted. He’d been trading all this time to collect precious metal to make a ring for the woman he loved. Jacinta swallowed. She couldn’t cry when she was the officiant.
She handed a ring to Triple-H. “Place this ring on Charis’ finger and repeat after me.”
“I Hunter Hensworth Higgs II take you Charis…”
There was banging on the outer doors. More men. More tools. More hands. More breaking down what stood between them and chaos.
“Doesn’t matter.” Hunter took both rings from her, put one on his fourth finger and the other on Patrice’s. It didn’t fit Patrice, but it hadn’t been made for her. “With this ring I thee wed. With this body, I thee adore. To have and to hold. For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health. ’Til death us do part.”
Wood splinting in the distance meant they had to move.
Triple-H took off. “I’m listening. Keep going.”
Patrice sighed. “I Charis Margaret…shoot, sorry, I forgot her middle name. I, Charis, do take you Triple-H to be my wedded husband. To have and to hold. For richer, for poorer. In sickness…” She looked through the window and into the surgical suite. “And in health. ’Til death us do part.” She slipped the ring into her pocket. “We done?”
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” Jacinta shouted.
The doors to the sick bay gave way.
Jeff Steckle and the men with pitchforks and guns arrived.
