by Teri Terry
“Are you sure, Callie?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll keep contact so I’ll know if you want me to come, all right?”
I nod and open the door, step outside. It’s dark already. So much of the day passed us by with Shay and Iona joined, me waiting. If Iona is infected already, that was hours of the time gone by until she gets sick—it’s usually about a day; isn’t that what Shay said? I’m sure they want to talk alone for a while, without me there, and I walk the long way around to Cepta’s. I can feel a trace of Shay there, in my mind, listening in case I need help. Unlike when Cepta used to do it, it is comforting.
There is a faint, flickering light in Cepta’s bedroom window. I knock, but she doesn’t answer, and finally I open the door, look in. There is no one in the front room. I step in, peer into the small kitchen: empty.
Her bedroom door is open. It’s never open; she always leaves it closed, and I’m curious. She’d have noticed I’m here by now for sure if she was in there.
I peer around the bedroom door, then—startled—take a step back. She’s sitting on her bed, cross-legged. Still.
I look closer: her eyes are wide-open and weirded out. She’s joined with somebody or reaching somewhere. She can’t tell I’m here.
Her room is grander than other bedrooms I’ve seen in Community, where everything is simple and functional. The bed is bigger, and it’s got pretty, filmy curtains that hang down from the ceiling and drape around it. The window is open, and the curtains wave slightly in the faint breeze, nearly catching the candle on the bedside table. I tiptoe in, watching her eyes, and blow out the candle—hoping she’ll just think the wind did it or something, and I won’t have to explain why I was creeping around her room.
Back in the kitchen, I open the refrigerator: inside it is a bottle of wine. Sauvignon Blanc, the label says. Is that any good? There are some others in a box in a cupboard, though not as many as I remember seeing once before when I was fetching Cepta’s lunch. I hurry, scared now she’ll hear me. I keep the cold one and replace the bottle in the fridge with one from the box and creep back out. My heart is beating fast.
Shay must notice. Is everything okay, Callie? she asks in my mind.
Yes. I’ve got a bottle of wine. I’m coming back now.
CHAPTER 20
SHAY
“AH, SHE’S A LIGHTWEIGHT,” Iona says. She winks and nods at Callie, fast asleep in her chair after the half a glass we let her have.
We’re on the sofa, holding hands in the dark room. The moon shines through the window.
“How does it feel to have a little sister?” she says.
“Strange. It was always just Mum and me.” Pain presses into my chest again, and it’s a moment before I can speak. And Iona knows—and waits. It’s like we’re joined even though we aren’t right now: we understand each other. It’s so good to see her, to talk to her. But what if…
No. I push that thought—of what might happen to her because she was brought here—firmly away. We agreed: tonight is for us. Not Xander, not the epidemic—just us.
“Tell me about Kai,” Iona says. “What happened there?”
“He did everything he could to find me. And when he did—well. I was an idiot. I didn’t believe some things he told me about Xander; he didn’t believe some things I told him about his sister. I decided to go with Xander to find Callie, and here I am.”
“And Kai didn’t go with you? Why not?”
“For a start, it’s a long story—but he didn’t believe that Callie was still alive. And I couldn’t tell him why I left, because he wouldn’t listen.”
“Sounds like he’s stubborn.”
“Yes, he is; and he has a temper too. But it was fair enough in this case. He was also really upset I hadn’t told him that Xander is my father. He was right; I should have.” I sigh deeply. “But anyway, I’m still hoping. I asked a friend of his to tell him why I left. I hope she did.”
“Aye. To hope,” Iona says, and clinks her glass against mine.
“How are you feeling?” I ask her, unable to stop myself.
“Happy to be with you, scared, angry at that double D, double M you call Dad.”
“I never call him that!”
“Well, you know what I mean.”
“What I meant was, how are you feeling? You know, physically and stuff.”
She shrugs, not answering, and cold fear creeps inside me. “Tell me,” I insist.
“Well, I’ve got a small headache. It’s probably the wine.”
Her aura shines in the dark, all that she is now, all that she has been—and will be, for however much time she has. And shadows are there: faint patches still, but beginning to darken and spread. She has a headache, yes, but that’s not all. “Are you aching a bit inside too?”
“I guess so.” She sighs, looks down. “It’s nothing I can’t ignore.”
She wants to pretend it isn’t there, isn’t happening, but what if I can help? “Let me check you out from the inside.”
She sighs, puts her glass down on the table. “Looks like the party is over.” Her eyes meet mine. There is fear in her aura, but she’s trying to hide it. “Whatever happens, I’m glad I saw you again.”
“Me too.” But I so wish you’d never come. The pain she will feel will overwhelm me. It was bad enough with someone I only knew for weeks; what will it be like with Iona?
I have to fight to hold on to hope: without it I can only fail, as I have over and over again. But how?
Iona’s eyes echo the fear she tries to hide. I can fake it for Iona—then maybe it’ll feel real.
“We can do this; I know we can. We’ll get through this together. All right?”
She gives a little nod.
“All right?” I say again, louder this time.
“Right! Now do what you have to do. Let me know if I can help.”
“You lie down—be comfortable.” I get up, and she pulls her feet up on the sofa. I tuck a pillow under her head; she winces a little. I sit on the floor next to her. She puts her arm around me lightly.
“Okay. I’m ready,” she says.
I reach inside Iona.
I had no doubt, not really. But it’s still a kick in the guts to see it inside of her. It’s started.
CHAPTER 21
CALLIE
I’M TRAVELING THROUGH MEMORIES from long ago: a Christmas, Kai holding me up to put an angel on the top of the tree. A trip to the beach with him and Mum. The day he gave me the dolphin necklace.
And it’s lovely, so lovely it takes me a while to realize that it isn’t me who wanted to see these things: it’s Jenna.
I separate her wishes from mine.
Jenna, why are you here with me?
She doesn’t know why, but there is something she does know, something she doesn’t want to tell me.
Please. I have to understand.
She hesitates. She gets why I need to know, but she’s scared.
We can do it together, she/I think.
Everything shifts and changes: we’re with Shay? And we’re with Chamberlain. Shay is crying; Jenna is there. They’re on a bed, wrapped around each other.
Someone shouts: Get out of the house! in my/Jenna’s mind, Shay’s too. We tell Shay Kai is there, is coming.
Shay gets up, scoops up Chamberlain, runs out of the house, rips the door open.
Sees Kai running toward her.
And…what is falling from the sky?
I/Jenna wrap myself around Shay and Chamberlain—covering them—just before the bomb hits.
LIGHT
SOUND
PAIN
Then a scream reverberates in my ears that isn’t in this memory/dream.
I open my eyes, heart pounding wildly, unsure at first if it is me that is screaming. But then the room comes into focus.
/>
Shay is there, sitting on the floor next to Iona.
It’s Iona: she’s crying out in pain.
CHAPTER 22
SHAY
I’M SHIELDING IONA’S PAIN AS MUCH AS I CAN while still focusing inside of her. Her agony doubles within me: there is the actual pain, and the pain of it being hers.
And this time I see how it happens—from the beginning.
Whatever triggers this illness—is it the dark light lingering from those who were sick? It acts like a catalyst, triggering the repeating sections of junk DNA inside of her: genes that are never normally active kick into gear and are transcribed again and again, until the cell is flooded with RNA copies. At the same time, these are translated to make a new protein—the one I’d found in dying cells before. The protein-making machinery of an infected cell is taken over, goes faster and faster, and it’s like a cascade: a few drops become a waterfall. It is happening everywhere, and her cells are starting to die.
But how do I stop it? I can’t. Failure faces me: it’s ugly.
I’m in Iona’s mind still; I can’t not be—I have to be there for her in all the ways that I can.
You said you could do something—do it! she says.
But I don’t know how.
There’s a wave of agony inside her that I buffer as much as I can. It subsides to a degree. Think: what did you do? You got sick. How did you stop it inside of you?
I didn’t do anything. It just happened.
Another wave takes her again, and her thought and reason are lost for seconds, then return.
And I can’t take her pain: I want to run, to hide, to stop. But it’s not just the physical pain. It’s remembering Mum dying and trying to help her—to show her how to compartmentalize the pain. To put it away like I’d done. She couldn’t do it.
Maybe there is something in that?
Another wave magnifies Iona’s pain, precious seconds lost.
Iona, listen to me. Look in my mind at what I show you. Put the pain away. Put it in a drawer and shut it.
I show her what I mean, and she’s visualizing, trying to do as I said.
It won’t fit in a drawer. She’s crying.
Something bigger, then—a whole house.
There is another wave. I’m not sure how much longer she can withstand this.
I have to hang on to hope. Think, Shay. I got sick, just like Iona is—this out-of-control cascade must have been happening within me too, just like it is to Iona now. Why did it stop in me? If it is because of this extra DNA I’ve got, what did it do?
Maybe it wasn’t just putting the pain away, it was having somewhere to put it too—not just the visualization of an imagined room or building but a real place.
The dark shadow—buffer, whatever it is—inside of me. The one that I can sense? Is that it? Is that what this extra DNA I have codes for?
I can’t change Iona’s DNA like that—there is no way that I know of to transfer DNA from me to her, no way to create it from nothing inside of her.
I have to look more closely at what it might have made inside of me.
Iona? You’re on your own, just for a moment. I love you.
I let go of Iona’s mind and reach deep inside myself. Further, deeper, beyond where I’ve gone before: I fight to see it more clearly, but it is trying to see that which can’t be seen.
Maybe…it is like staring at an aura: I have to unlook to see.
And I have it more clearly now. Deep inside me: a dark shield. This is the drawer, or house, or whatever physical symbol you want—this is what hides the pain. This is what Iona needs.
If Iona can’t make her own, can I share mine? It doesn’t seem to have physical size or quantity in the way ordinary things do. It is both nothing and everything. Tiny and immense.
I can try to channel it. The way I can use particles as waves. Waves of dark healing this time, from me to Iona.
Don’t let me be too late. I reach back to Iona. There is just a whisper, a bare spark, of who she is inside of her still. She’s alive. Barely, but she’s alive.
Increased hope and urgency give me strength I didn’t know I had. I sense Cepta is there now too, and Beatriz. Everyone is joining together, even Xander. Together, they help me channel this dark wave to Iona.
I’m urging Iona to join in, to fight, to hide the pain away where it can never hurt her again.
And then, all at once, her pain is gone.
CHAPTER 23
CALLIE
THERE IS NOTHING WORSE THAN WAITING, watching, not being able to do anything.
I hope I did the right thing, bringing Cepta to help Shay.
Shay and Cepta suddenly slump down. Shay is crying as if her heart will break. Iona is still and pale on the sofa behind them.
Oh no, no…
I reach out to Shay, to take her hand.
“You did everything you could.”
She looks up at me, shakes her head. “She’s alive. She’s just asleep. She survived.”
Cepta sits up a little. Her face is as pale as Shay’s. “Good thing too. I want to have a word with her about drinking my favorite wine.”
CHAPTER 24
SHAY
I WATCH IONA SLEEP. Callie says I need to sleep too, and I know she’s right, but I’m afraid that if I don’t stay here with Iona, something will happen. She’ll slip away, or when I wake up, I’ll find this was all something my fevered imagination came up with, and she really died.
So I watch her, and I think.
If Iona hadn’t made me go back to when I was sick, to how I stuffed the pain away like that, I don’t think I’d have been able to work it out. She helped save her own life. I couldn’t see how to move DNA to her, but doing it this way—the dark waves, the dark matter—did the same thing. I checked afterward, and the DNA I have, that survivors have—Iona has it now too. They must go together.
And what about Mum? If I had known how back then, could I have saved her? Maybe. There is no way to know, and I wish so much that I could travel back in time, that I could take what I know now, and save her.
Xander hails me, but I refuse to talk to him. He’s exultant. I feel it before I push him out of my mind. He’ll think he was right to do everything that he did—that I was able to save Iona proves it to be so.
But she could have died. Now that she’s survived, will she be changed forever, like I am? If so, she might not thank us for that. And how could Xander risk her life like that? Does he know how much she means to me?
Maybe…he does. Maybe that is why he brought her: to motivate me to push, and push harder. To find a way to go beyond my limits.
Mum was right: there is a wrongness inside of him. He lies; he justifies the lies; he manipulates and hurts the people around him.
When we talked about Mum before, Xander made it seem like she left him because he was different—because he was a survivor. He made me feel like there was no chance for me and Kai, that if Mum were still here, she’d feel the same about me as she did about him. That she’d feel this wrongness inside of me too.
But how she felt about him wasn’t just because he’s a survivor, was it? I’m different now from when she knew me, but I’m nothing like Xander.
There’s a sense of easing within me—a letting go. Thinking about Mum will always hurt. I’ll always miss her. But if she were here, she’d still love me, no matter what. That I’m a survivor and all the weirdness that goes along with it could never change that. I’m sure of it now. It was only because of Xander that I’d questioned this: he made me question her. And that makes me even angrier.
And what about Kai? We could work things out. At least if we couldn’t, it wouldn’t just be because of what I am—we’re not doomed by that one thing alone.
Kai warned me about Xander too. I should have listened.
One thing I do know: it’
s time. Callie, Iona, and me—we’ve got to get out of here.
PART 6
STELLAR EVOLUTION
Chaotic first elements and particles dispersed from the big bang; they condensed and developed into the stars we see at night. And so evolution continues to take the simple and make it more complex—much like we have become.
—Xander, Multiverse Manifesto
CHAPTER 1
FREJA
WHEN JJ HAILS ME, I’M SO STARTLED that at first I don’t answer.
He tries again: Freja? Is that you?
Yes! It’s me; where are you? I cast out to feel for his location, but find nothing. I’m puzzled. He’d have to be nearby to talk like this, so where is he?
Not so. I’ve gotten help with projection. Other voices join in now; some introduce themselves—Beatriz, Elena—while others are old friends—Patrick, Zohra.
I was worried when I didn’t hear from you again, JJ says. We’ve been trying to hail you for days; you must have just gotten within range.
Where are you?
Scotland, on a remote farm. Where are you?
Just past Carlisle. Heading north, toward you. I almost cry, the relief is so strong: I didn’t know how I was going to find them. Instead, they’ve found me.
Freja? You don’t seem yourself. Is something wrong?
Yes, I say, but then I can’t find the words. Instead, I show them: Azra’s death, as witnessed by Wilf. And we’re all together now. They’re comforting me, and it’s so beautiful to be together like this again that this time the tears do come.
Beautiful? I like to think I’m more handsome, JJ says, and gives me a mental hug. What can we do to help?
I want to join you. And bring Wilf.
What about Kai?
He’s not with us anymore. I hide how I slipped away with Wilf as Kai slept; that isn’t something I want to broadcast to everyone. I need to be with you, with people who are like me. Wilf does too.
