“I know it feels like that,” she says.
“You don't know,” I say. “You don't understand.”
“Then tell me,” she says. “I've known Sam as long as you, and loved him too. If anyone can understand a little bit of what you feel, it's me.”
I shake my head. “You have Job and your parents. My dad's gone, and now that Sam's gone, I've got no one.”
Rhonda pulls back far enough to look down into my eyes. “You have me and Job, and our parents, too. I've always been more a sister than a cousin to you.”
I look away. “We're probably not even related.”
A sharp exhalation of breath draws my attention. Rhonda's cheeks flush bright red, as though I slapped her. “You're my family, do you hear me? You'll be my family until the day you die, and then after that too. Who knows what happens after death? For all we know, Sam's sitting right there.” She points at the tree. “He could be watching you right now. So stop talking nonsense.”
I appreciate her assurance, I really do, but she'll never quite get it. She and Job are like two sides of a shiny quarter. I'm like a dirty penny they found on the side of the road. I'll never be the same as them, and I'll never really have a place. Sam was my shot at making a home in this messed up world, and now that's gone with him.
But the world needs the antibodies my dad shoved into my veins, so I stand up inch-by-inch, without anyone's help. I walk back to the truck by moving one foot at a time. I climb back into my seat, forcing my limbs to move, my lungs to work, and my heart to keep beating. This isn't about me, not anymore, and that keeps me going forward. Maybe somehow I can find a way to redeem myself or redeem my Dad. If there is life after death and either Sam or my dad are watching me, I can’t let them down. Not again.
5
Wesley and Job load the gasoline into the already full truck bed, shifting the cows into yet a smaller area. They moo and moan and stomp their feet, but the world doesn’t pay them any more attention than it does me. No one mentions my outburst, and we pull right back out on the road.
A few miles down the road I see it, the bridge over the Atchafalaya swamp.
It spans miles and miles. I don't know quite how many, but it stretches ahead of me as far as I can see, and behind me into the horizon. My stomach flips and flops, looking at the enormous drop from the road as we drive. Cypress trees and their knees, Spanish moss, enormous cranes, bullfrogs and even alligators live riotously in the swamp below. Our truck, suspended more than thirty feet above the standing water underneath, plows ahead, and my heart rests uneasily in my throat. At one point when I glance to my left, I see where the bridge on the other side crumbled away. The rest of the drive it’s had two more lanes, probably intended for the traffic going the other direction, but the concrete pilings holding it up gave way. I think about the concrete pilings underneath us now, just as old as those and subject to the same conditions below. I wonder how many alligators, snakes and other creeping things would swarm us if we plunged into the swamp.
I shudder.
Wesley must feel the same way, because we don't stop at all over the Atchafalaya. I breathe a hearty sigh of relief once we clear it, and we do stop several times to clear vegetation after we pass back onto dry land. With so many people to help, the blockages are cleared quickly. We reach the edge of Baton Rouge almost exactly seven hours after we left Texas City.
I expect to see a few thousand Marked kids in the city, a city I've never seen before. I'm wrong by a wide margin. Tens of thousands of kids work, play, rest and interact all around us as we drive past. So many more than I expected. I'm accustomed to seeing kids with rashes, kids who are likely not kids, but who resemble children nonetheless.
I'm not accustomed to seeing young adults sporting the same rash. These Marked look older, taller, and less like kids than I imagined they would. Even knowing the suppressant is failing, it's a bucket of ice-water dumped over my head. I knew a lot of people were relying on me, but I didn't have a good feel for the time pressure we’ll be working under.
They're sicker than I anticipated as well. Some are up and walking around, cleaning, tending animals or gardens, visiting with each other, but many of them are lying down. It's cold, but even covered in jackets and coats, I notice some of the sores that appear in the second year. These kids are dying.
We have a lot less time than I thought.
Wesley pulls up in front of a huge building with large windows and a spacious parking lot. He parks the truck at the front of the lot, near a sign that reads 'Baton Rouge General Medical Center'. I suppose that makes sense. Ten years ago, the kids would have started out here tending for sick loved ones, so it probably organically became their home base from there. When we climb out, cheers go up all around us. Some kids hobble over, and some run. Some eyes widen in awe, many clutch their hands in desperation, and some faces light up with joy. I try not to flinch at the raw expectation. They know who I am, or at least, they know who they want me to be.
The Promised.
I hear them whispering, talking, and even a few shouting the same phrase over and over. I've never heard of any prophecy, and I'm quite sure I'm not part of some grand plan. In fact, I don't feel like the Promised at all. That sounds far too optimistic. I'm definitely less than that. I fear I'm doomed to disappoint them all.
I close my eyes and imagine Rose's face. Hope may be gone in me forever, but I try to summon up every last bit of compassion left inside to channel as I face them. I'm worried they'll spot my fear, my pessimism, and they'll wilt. I want to be what they need. I want them to live and work and love and laugh without fear. I want to fix the mess my dad made and restore a future to all the kids looking at me with longing.
I wish I knew how to fix everything.
While I'm wishing, I really miss Aunt Anne. She'd know what to do. I'd rest easier if she were running this show. Where did she go after she was Marked? Why isn't she here with Wesley and Rafe?
Deep in thought about my aunt, I barely notice when the first Marked girl touches my jacket.
“You're really here?” she asks, her hazel eyes soft. A sore the size of a cherry tomato weeps fluid on her exposed forearm. It's chilly enough that I hope she takes my involuntary shiver as a reaction to the cold air, and not what it really is. Revulsion.
When another hand tugs gently on my hair, I glance behind me and notice they're converging. A large hand takes mine and tugs me forward, and my heart rate spikes. Rhonda's hand goes to her gun and Wesley throws an arm out, shooing the boy who took my hand and a tall girl back a few steps. But more of them press toward us, murmuring quietly, reaching and grabbing.
“Give her some room to breathe,” Wesley says, his voice firm.
“I need help now.” The pale boy who grabbed me whines. “My brother can't even get out of bed. He's in bad shape.”
He wipes at an oozing sore near his left eye, and I wince.
I want to help them all, but there are so many. Even if they only need a drop of my blood apiece, even if I knew my blood would actually cure them, I'd die long before they all got treatment. When I glance from face to face, I realize they know it. They're running out of time, but by the looks of things, I might be too.
Rafe's voice cracks like a whip from the roof of a truck behind us, and a cow moos beside him. “Back to your chores. I've given you a moment to celebrate and welcome our new visitor, but you will not mob her, and you will not frighten her. Back away from her right now. We have a lot of work to do, and we need to figure out how best to make our new discovery available to everyone. You trust me, you know me, and I will work night and day to make this happen for all of us, not just a select few. I haven’t had a drop of her blood, nor will I until the rest of you have all been treated.”
I finally pinpoint the similarity between Rafe and Sam. Rafe's face and hair are different, but I've seen the same look in Sam’s eyes, the air of command. Rafe and Sam share the same set of their jaw, a uniform confidence of purpose.
When
Rafe climbs down and crosses the street to where I'm standing, the Marked kids disperse like cockroaches fleeing the light. He certainly commands easily, which must be hard when you barely look thirteen years old. I wonder how old he really is.
Rhonda glances around warily and shifts from foot to foot. “Who runs security around here? You must have someone in charge of that. Kids are running around with guns all over the place.”
Rafe nods. “Todd and Marco handle most of that.” He pulls a black walkie talkie from his belt. “Necessito seguridad aqui pronto.”
“Spanish?” I ask. “Why in Spanish?”
Rafe shrugs. “Did you understand what I said?”
I shake my head.
“That's why.”
The tall man with the mahogany skin who tried to detain me before we headed for WPN jogs over to where Rafe is standing. He's never been on the suppressant, or I'll eat my gloves.
“What's wrong?” His eyes scan the surrounding areas twice before circling back around to Rafe's face.
“Our guests wanted to meet you, Todd.” Rafe motions toward us. “This is Rhonda, who you've met briefly, her brother Job, and Ruby—”
“Who I nearly caught. It would have saved us all some time, if this one,” Todd tosses his head at Rhonda, “hadn't lied and tricked us.” Todd pointedly returns his gaze to Rafe, which isn't necessary. We all know exactly how he feels about us. “Well, if there's nothing more you need from me.”
Rhonda puts her hands on her hips. “Nothing we need?” She shakes her head. “How about a baseline level of competency? WPN was planning to eliminate the entire Marked population, and you had no idea. Your people almost swarmed Ruby just now, ready to suffocate her with their desperation, and Rafe was standing right next to her when that happened. I can only imagine what they'll do over the next few weeks as symptoms worsen and we work on developing this into something we can manage. If I've learned anything, it's that science takes time. Nothing happens overnight.”
Todd's eyebrows rise. “I'm not even going to address most of that, because you have no idea what life here is like. You have no concept of what my job entails. But as to the rest, why would it take weeks to parse out her blood to all of us?”
“How could it not?” Rhonda asks. “First of all, Ruby doesn't have a cure so much as an immunity. Trying to extrapolate that into a treatment will be difficult, even if we were doing this in Unmarked territory in my mom's lab. It might be impossible even then, but here? Even if Ruby's blood was the cure you people seem to assume it is, there's only one of her, and in case you hadn't noticed, she's tiny. Blood cures do not grow on trees.”
Todd's scowl deepens. “I've seen Libby. We all have. Her Mark's gone, and her baby’s head is clear too. So you can say what you like, but Ruby has cured you, Libby, and pretty boy here.” He points at Wesley. “The rest of us want our shot. That's not a security issue, that's the reality of our situation.”
My heart sinks. I should be happy to hear that Libby's Mark is gone. I should be pleased that my blood can cure them, but based on what I know about antibodies... the improvement doesn't seem likely to last, not in the long run.
“The disappearance of the rash doesn't mean someone has been cured,” Job says. “Many people conflate the two, but it's more of an indicator of symptoms than anything conclusive.”
“What about this?” Todd yanks up his sleeve. “What does this mean?”
Near his elbow, there's a small sore.
“It means you've entered year two,” I say. “Symptoms have begun to manifest, which means your immune system is weakening. Eventually Tercera will begin to attack your entire body, but you probably have a year or so until that happens.”
Todd spits. “I'm doing better than most, little girl. You may be small, but you're the first hope we've had in a long time. You better not let us down.”
I shiver.
“Why don't you have any sores, Rafe?” Rhonda asks.
Rafe frowns. “The suppressant stopped working in the far flung areas first. It only stopped here a few weeks ago.
Job's eyes meet mine and he nods.
“You said it failed,” Job says. “As in, you kept taking the pills, but they stopped working like they did before. Are you sure that's what happened?”
Rafe tilts his head and folds his arms. “We took our pills, if that's what you're asking. We may look young, but we aren't stupid.”
The Unmarked provide the suppressant. Our scientists developed it, and Aunt Anne spearheaded those efforts. It's not possible, what Job's thinking. She may have lied to me, but she was trying to protect me. Aunt Anne would never have allowed this, she’d never have sent out faulty suppressant.
“He didn't mean to imply anything like that,” I say. “We're exhausted, is all.”
Job grunts. “It seems odd the meds would stop working in certain places instead of for certain people, varying based on how long they've taken it, and how their bodies respond.”
Rafe blinks rapidly. “We assumed it was the climate in each place, or something about the differences in what they ate. You think it stopped working because of something else?”
I shake my head. “We don't know what to think, but it might not be a bad idea if you provided us with whatever information you might have on the dates, locations and times the suppressant began failing. Once we've had time to review them, we can let you know.”
Rafe frowns. “Your mom asked for the same thing.”
Job and Rhonda both step toward Rafe, and I have a momentary feeling of vertigo, like I'm seeing double. They both ask, “My mom?” at the same time.
Twins are whack.
Rafe nods. “She and your dad found the same camp Wesley originally joined, and they sent word asking for that information. I sent it on, but I never heard back. When I sent a message asking about her, they said your dad left first since he wasn't Marked, and your mom left a few days later.”
Aunt Anne refined the initial suppressant and then spearheaded the efforts to manufacture it for the Marked population. She's the reason I can't imagine that the failing suppressant had anything to do with the pills provided by the Unmarked. Aunt Anne would never allow a failure of that magnitude, and the idea she might intentionally provide a faulty product is inconceivable. But if she knew the failure couldn’t have come from the Unmarked side, why would she ask for any information the Marked kids had? Wouldn't she know the pills themselves were fine?
I glance at Job, and he shakes his head by way of response. He doesn't know what it means, either. I intend to find out, but the quickest way will be to ask Aunt Anne. We'll need her help to make sense of my antibodies and figure out how we can use them to save all these people too. That should be our top priority, really.
Rafe points at Todd. “Rhonda raises some good points. You need to review plans for security around the plasma center. We're using it as a home base for this whole operation. Why don't you take Rhonda with you? Now that she's one of us, we should be making use of her expertise. Work with her, that's an order.”
Todd stares at Rafe for a moment, and I wonder whether he'll argue, but eventually Todd drops his eyes and grunts. “This way.” He heads back up the road the same way he came, and Rhonda glances at me.
I nod. “It's fine. Go see what you can do to make things safe for us.”
She trots off behind him.
Marco, whoever he is, never showed. I think about asking Rafe why he didn't, but a throat clears behind me, and I spin around. At first I think maybe it's Marco with a tag-along. Two people walked up behind me so quietly, I had no idea they were there. A boy and a girl, with almost identical long noses, sloping brows, and weak jaws. They stand at almost an identical height, about four inches taller than me, but their facial expressions couldn't be more different. The boy's eyes are wide, eager and welcoming. When I look at his face, he waves shyly. The girl slaps his hand down and sighs in disgust, frowning at me with suspicious eyes and crossed arms.
Rafe walks from t
he middle of the road to the edge of it so he can stand near them. “Amir and Riyah are siblings. They run our Science division. I asked them to set up a place for you.”
I smile at them and Amir smiles back. His sister doesn't spit at me. That may be as good as it gets with her. I study her face, her eyes as bitter as a green lemon, her mouth twisted into a scowl.
“Wonderful to meet you both,” Job says. “I can't wait to discuss my thoughts. I'm assuming you've already heard that the 'cure' is really a triple shot of antibodies Donovan Behl injected into Ruby, here. Obviously antibodies like Ruby's dad's journal says he provided shouldn't have lasted quite as long as they have.”
Job pauses for input. When they don’t reply, he continues. “My initial thought was that exposure at some point boosted them, or that maybe her dad had an agent that bound to them to keep them around. But when I thought about that, I figured what happened, probably, was he stimulated the CpG oligonucleotides, which activated the protein inside B cells called the TLR9. There was some great research about that Before, and I think it was coming out of England. My mom had an article I read on it, but as a leader in his field, Donovan would've been abreast of everything like that. That would explain how she has such a strong immunity a decade later, but it might be problematic as far as a cure since passive immunity is usually short lived without a CpG stimulation, which we don't have the capacity to replicate.”
Riyah opens her mouth, her brows drawn together, her hip cocked, but before she can speak, Amir cuts her off. “We don't really do a lot of research, exactly. The Marked science team mostly handles things that better our lives in the here and now. Our parents ran a dairy for a company called Horizon Organic Before. They home schooled us and loved actual books, so when Tercera hit, we had a food supply, basic knowledge of how to maintain it, and books that held some answers.”
Job closes his mouth with a click. He glances from Amir to Riyah and back again. “Well, I'm glad to have your help here, anyway.”
Sins of Our Ancestors Boxed Set Page 31
