Lydia's Mollusk

by Sean Monaghan

  "You're raving."

  "No. Maybe a little."

  Samena kept digging.

  Then there were more people there. Mel. Arnt with some kind of hat on his head.

  The rain drove in as if a new waterfall had just been established, right above them.

  The gazelles bleated.

  Then, a gurney. They lifted Lydia onto it.

  The larger gazelle leapt up, front feet on the gurney's side. Right by her elbow.

  The gazelle bleated at her. It bent its head. Licked at her skin.

  Lydia made the mistake of looking down then.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The sky pealed with blasts of thunder. A strike every fifteen or twenty seconds. Most distant, but some close enough to make the trees in the hospital's garden shiver.

  Arnt tapped Lydia's cheek.

  "It's all right," he said.

  When their parents had been alive, they'd talked about storms from their childhood. Huge, dramatic things that brought hail and snow. That burned entire forests with lightning. The storms had been getting smaller right through their lifetimes. They said.

  Hard to know how much of that was true.

  The gurney squeaked. Lydia was drenched.

  The gazelle licked at her arm.

  That's right. Her arm was wrecked. A mass of torn and shredded pieces. A pure ruin.

  Back in school, Kenny Burrelle had been fond of looking up footage of terrible accidents and had delighted in showing the kids imagery of mangled feet and heavily scarred backs and fingers that had been degloved.

  None of that had desensitized her to the damage she'd now seen.

  Of course Kenny had been reprimanded, and received counselling and been straightened out. Last Lydia had heard, he'd become a high-end taxidermist, making stuffed animals from people's beloved pets.

  The gurney bounced over the rough garden ground.

  "How will you get me down the hatch?" Lydia said, her voice vanishing into the storm.

  "Let us worry about that," Arnt said.

  Lydia's arm stung. More than stung. It came with a numbness. Her own endorphin system kicking in and separating the signals from the damaged nerves and deflecting them.

  A complex dance of chemical receptors and electrical signals operating to keep her away from the pain. The real pain.

  Keeping her at arm's length.

  Lydia even smiled at her own little joke.

  She was soaking wet. The rain pounded in. Everyone was getting soaked. Arnt, Samena, Mel. There were other people two. A couple of orderlies. One was big and burly, the other slight and slim. The five of them worked at maneuvering the laden gurney across the rough ground of the garden.

  "I'm nothing more than a nuisance," Lydia said. "Stop this. Get out of the rain all of you."

  "She's delirious," Arnt said.

  "We're almost there," Samena said. "Hold on."

  "Surgery's ready," Mel said. "We'll wheel her right in. Wishart is coming in. They're trying to get hold of Rameni too."

  "Good. We'll need expertise."

  "Wait," Lydia said. "No. No surgery."

  No one spoke. They reached the open hatchway. The gazelles were trotting along with them.

  With some deft maneuvering, directed by the orderlies, the team were able to lift the gurney over the lip and then down the stairway. The framework holding the legs had folded itself up into the base, turning the gurney into a stretcher.

  The hatch made pattering, ticking sounds with the rain, but held it all back. A strange relief ran through Lydia.

  Out of the rain.

  The gurney only just fitted through the narrow corridor. Underground. The orderlies in the lead.

  When they reached the rung ladder, there was a harness waiting and it attached to the gurney's mattress. A winch above whirred. The harness straps tightened and lifted Lydia. The settings bent her shoulders forward and her knees up. Compressing her to fit through the smaller hatch.

  She rode up next to the ladder rungs she'd crawled down earlier.

  It was almost as if they were drilled in this. As if they knew that someone would get injured in the garden and would need to do this.

  Easier to have just had a door in the hospital wall, rather than all this palaver.

  Then she was up through the little hatchway, along the first corridor, through the cleaners' cupboard and out into the hospital's main, busy corridor.

  The sound of the rain on the hospital's roof was loud.

  Samena and Mel catching up. Arnt hustling behind. Water still cascading from them. Shouts from along the corridor.

  Lydia was on another gurney. This one sturdier. It had a hefty thrum to it as the wheels rolled along the corridors.

  "Slow down," Arnt said. "Let her speak."

  Lydia's arm writhed next to her. She felt vague and distant from everything.

  The end of the gurney bumped through doors. A small, narrow room. Light green. Smelled really strongly of disinfectant. Racks of gloves on the walls. Big basins with long-armed faucets.

  Someone putting on a gown. A mask and kind of flat beany hat. All that same green as the walls. Camouflage? Seemed like it. As if they didn't want to be seen.

  Through more doors.

  A big cluster of lights on an arm in the center. A long flat table with a small pillow at one end. Tall trays of steely instruments. A thin, cylindrical robot with numerous arms of its own. Lots of equipment and displays on the walls.

  This kind of space she knew. An operating theatre.

  "No," she said. "Stop."

  Why did she know it was all right?

  "It's going to be okay," Samena said. "They're going to take a look. Figure out what happened."

  Samena looked worried.

  "Stop." Lydia said. "I can't be here."

  She began sitting up. Samena put her hand on Lydia's shoulder. Held her firmly.

  There were other people in the room. All in gowns or scrubs. Masks. Hands held up near their shoulders.

  They seemed harried and hustled.

  "Arnt!" Lydia said. "Where's Arnt?"

  "He's outside," Mel said. "He can't come—"

  "Get him in here now. He's taking me home."

  "You're hurt," Samena said. She couldn't help glancing at Lydia's left arm.

  Lydia looked too. It was a mess of blood and shredded muscle. It seemed as if it should hurt way more than it did.

  "We'll wrap it up," Samena said. "Stop the bleeding. That's the important thing now. From there we'll explore next steps."

  "Get Arnt in here," Lydia said.

  In the background something said something about sedation, and someone else asked about the current location of the anesthetist

  "On her way," Mel said. "They had a cyst in two, so they have to wrap that up."

  "No sedation," Lydia said.

  "You'll have to," Samena said.

  Lydia took a deep breath. The pain was fading. Was that endorphins? Or what?

  "The bleeding," she said. "It's slowing, isn't it?"

  Samena looked down again.

  Someone leaned over Lydia, putting a hand on her forehead. They shone a light into each of her eyes, nodded and backed away.

  "Bleeding," Samena said. "Yes. Slowing."

  "Stopping," Lydia said. "They inclusions are taking care of it."

  "The inclusions? You mean the calcareous holes that had the threads?"

  "Exactly."

  "But they're gone. Completely gone."

  "No," Mel said.

  From the corner of her eye, Lydia saw Mel move around the table.

  The big lights directly above switched on, doubling the room's brightness. Someone slipped some wrap-around dark glasses over Lydia's face.

  "Samena," Mel said. "Look at this."

  Both of them bent closer to Lydia's arm.

  "We took her out of the soil too soon," Samena said.

  "She was in pain," Mel said. "We had to."

  "But the job wasn't quite f
inished."

  The doors clunked. Someone strode through.

  "All right," a man's voice said. Deep. Focused. "Everyone who is not on this surgical team please leave the theatre. Now."

  "No," Lydia said. "No surgery."

  "She's right," Samena said, looking up. "No surgery."

  "Oh," the man said. "You're in charge now Doctor Erlin?"

  A new face peered down at Lydia. Masked and hatted, so she could only see his eyes and part of his forehead. Old and lined. Eyebrows that needed a hedge trimmer.

  "No one cuts me," Lydia said. "No one touches me."

  The eyebrows moved.

  "Did she not sign a waiver?" he said. The mask moved with his jaw, riding down his nose slightly.

  No one spoke for a moment.

  "We're wasting our time here," he said.

  "No," Lydia said. "Thank you. There's been a misunderstanding, that's all. A misunderstanding of my condition."

  She lifted her arm for them to see.

  The bleeding had stopped. The pain had gone. It still looked like a mess.

  No hand. Just shreds of flesh.

  But it didn't need fixing. Didn't need any kind of surgery.

  It just needed time.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  It was six weeks later when Arnt came to visit Lydia back at home. She had changed the layout of the studio so that she could see out the window more effectively.

  From one of the mail order stores, she'd purchased a pair of impalas. They were like the gazelles back at the hospital, but smaller and they had softer fur. It was wonderful watching them walk around the yard, exploring the new plantings.

  Lydia knew Arnt was coming, so she'd gotten coffee started, and she'd filled the fridge with foods. Lots of grapes. She was really enjoying grapes now, so tart and with such a delicious feel in her mouth.

  She had a call coming up with Samena, just to talk about the state of her arm and hand. It was all practically healed now.

  Genetically hybrid in a way no one else on Earth was.

  Arnt hadn't seen it yet.

  In for a shock.

  It was so versatile. Tentacles and claws. Sensitivity she couldn't even describe. Doctor Wills was coming over just about every day, full of excitement of the changes and the healing process.

  It was all they could do to keep the corporates at bay.

  Now she stood at the kitchen bench, running water over salad greens. Straight out of her own garden. It was growing lush and full and bright and strong. The whole interaction with the impalas, the geckos, the wood grouse and more was amazing. Amazing.

  And the old macrocarpa still stood. Below, rather than dead ground covered in browning needles, there were puffy fungi. A huge variety, in rich earthy colors, speckled with reds and blues. Some were edible.

  From the road came the hum of vehicles. Two of them. Doctor Wills's roadster, and behind that a bright orange Mustang.

  What a pair! As if having speedy sleek cars was some kind of thing they needed to prove their prowess. Their manliness.

  Lydia looked around her kitchen. She'd tidied for the guests, but it was fairly Spartan. Coffee cups on the table, with a plate of pastry nibbles. On the wall still hung the old painting of the boys in the dinghy, tumbling at the face of the dumping wave. The boys looked more prepared now.

  Not that she'd changed it. But they did, those ambiguous expressions did have a certain strength to them. If you looked at them the right way.

  Lydia went to the front door and pulled it open. She stepped out onto the narrow veranda and watched the cars pull in onto the driveway.

  The engines shut off and people started getting out. Doctor Wills, with Samena, and in the Mustang, Arnt with Mel.

  That was a thing, now, apparently. Who'd have thought. It happened without Lydia even really being cognizant.

  But then, she'd had other things on her mind.

  She lifted her right hand and waved.

  "Hi," she said. "Hello. Welcome. Come in."

  Wills shook her right hand. He was all smiles. It was nice to see him socially, like this. Most of his visits over the last month and a half had been clinical.

  "You look rosy," Samena said. She stepped up onto the veranda and they hugged. Lydia kept her left hand down. Not quite ready to let Arnt see it.

  She needed to see his face when he did.

  "You," Lydia told Samena, "look overworked and stressed."

  "Thanks a lot." Samena let go and moved back, smiling. "But it's true. I am. We all are."

  Mel stepped up. "Can't help ourselves. We have jobs, but we also bathe in reflected light. Our celebrity patient."

  Mel hugged her too. She felt tiny but strong against Lydia. Mel smelled of lavender and coconut, as if she'd used a special scrub just for the visit.

  "They're quite the talk," Wills said. "Everyone wants to know where you live. Wants to see what's the deal."

  "It's no big deal, right," Arnt said. He stayed a couple of yards back.

  "I'll go fix the coffee," Wills said. "I can smell it percolating. You two need to catch up."

  "We'll help," Samena said.

  "We will?" Mel said. "How many people does it take to... oh. I see." She winked at Lydia, turned to give Arnt a small wave and followed Wills and Samena into the kitchen.

  Lydia stayed on the veranda. Arnt seemed tired too. Tanned. He might have even gained a little weight.

  "It's good to see you," she said.

  "Sorry I haven't been around lately," he said.

  "You've been here in spirit." She kept her left arm at her side, tucked in slightly behind her hip.

  "I like what you've done with the place," he said. "Is this based on the garden at the hospital?"

  "Related, to be sure."

  "I heard you even got some gazelles. After what they did to you."

  "Impalas. Similar, but different. And what the gazelles did was good."

  "I know. I'm kind of kidding. The whole genetic hybrid thing. As if they intuitively knew what you needed. Knew what was going on."

  "They're writing papers on it. Whole new branches of study coming up. Whole new worlds of experiments."

  "Human hybrids. That's something, isn't it?"

  One of the impalas came around the side of the house. One of its horns had broken halfway up a couple of weeks back. A little fight with the macrocarpa.

  "It's hurt," Arnt said.

  "It's doing okay. You should have heard it when it happened. Screaming fit to wake the whole village."

  Arnt looked around, across the neighbors' roofs, out toward the dunes.

  "No one minds then? Having you here? No one's given you away?"

  "No one really cares. Ed scoops up the wind drift sand and carts it back to the shore. Irina brings over vegetables. Sal asks for painting tips. She's getting quite good."

  "And you? Painting?"

  "Always. Come in. See some."

  Arnt nodded. He didn't move.

  "Are you scared of me?" she said.

  "Not scared. Unsure, perhaps. Confused. It all happened very fast. I wanted to visit, wanted to look after you."

  "But you have your own life, of course. Things to handle. A new love."

  He gave a sheepish grin. "Love might be too strong of a word just yet. Perhaps a new beau."

  "I'm listening to every word!" Mel called from the kitchen.

  Arnt's grin actually turned more sheepish. He walked toward the veranda. Stepped up.

  "Let's see this hand then," he said.

  Lydia turned slightly. Moved her arm around. Brought up her hand.

  He knew about it of course. They'd talked. Even via video. But still, he hadn't seen it in the flesh.

  She'd been left with an interesting collection of appendages. Two long, bony fingers, one with eight joint and one with nine, each starting back about halfway along where her forearm had been. The skin was mottled, pinkish with brown swirls. Tests showed that they had likely been her pinky and ring finger.

>   Nothing else was analogous to anything she'd had previously. Three tentacles that virtually kept moving, like a cat's tail, two fatter than fingers, and longer than the two actual finger-like appendages, and one that was thinner and whiplike and stretched out twice as long if she wanted it.

  There were three more knobby protrusions, around the base where all the appendages merged into her forearm. No one had quite figured those out yet.

  Arnt swallowed. Not the look of revulsion she was expecting, but still a response.

  "Can you hold a brush?" he said. "A pencil?"

  "Sure. I'm still learning some of the fine motor skills, but I don't think there will be more changes."

  "It's like a butterfly, isn't it," he said. "A metamorphosis."

  "Well, a physical metamorphosis anyway."

  Arnt glanced away toward the dunes again. "And the sea? The bodies of water? Still drawing you to them?"

  "It's different. I can swim, and that's bliss—I don't feel the cold at all—but it doesn't tug me the way it did."

  "Good."

  "I'm glad you were here," she said. "Thanks for... for coming. For staying."

  "Of course. You're my family."

  A tingle ran through her. Not the tugs of the genetic changes, which she was still getting, but something else.

  She was his family, and he was hers.

  "I know," she said. "I'm sorry we were—"

  "Don't," he said. He reached out and took her hand. Her left hand, with all its bony fingers and tentacles.

  Another small charge went through her. People had touched it, but it had always been clinical. Tests and more tests.

  No one had touched it just... just the way he was.

  "Don't cry," he said, pulling her into a hug.

  "I won't cry," she said. Hugging him back and feeling his warmth and his strength and his brotherliness.

  One of the impalas trotted into her view and looked up at her. It lifted it head and made a quiet bleat.

  "Yes," she told it. "Everything has worked out."

  Acknowledgement