Arcadium

by Sarah Gray

  Chapter 14

  HEAVEN IS WHITE. That’s what they teach you, even if you’re not religious. The general idea is white and bright and calm and quiet.

  I’m conscious now but I stay dormant behind the darkness of my eyelids. I don’t want to open them. What if it’s not like we think it is? What if it’s just nothing?

  My ears are ringing but I feel the sound fading into a soft silence. When I finally open my eyes a jolt of pain enters my brain. It’s so bright. I squint and try again, letting my eyes adjust slowly. I’m staring up at something. A shiny roof, maybe glass. Beyond that everything is white.

  I blink and draw in a fresh breath. There’s so much to take in. I’m on a flat bed in a strange white hospital gown, completely encased in a room of glass. I sit up slowly and slide my feet to the floor. That’s glass too, a layer on top of grey concrete.

  The lights are coming from above, piercing white. It’s cool and scentless in this small space.

  My eyes focus and I see Liss, lying on a bed in the cube next to mine. I run the few steps to the wall and slam up against the glass, screaming to her, banging my fists against the thick barrier. She lies so still in her white gown. She looks dead.

  “Liss!”

  But she won’t wake up.

  Something crackles above. “Please calm down.” A disembodied female voice filters through a tinny speaker.

  “What’s going on?” I call out. “Let me see Liss!”

  “Please, relax. You’re inside Arcadium. You’re safe now.”

  I see movement outside my room and I chase it. A woman stands there, looking straight at me. She’s thin, dressed in a tight white suit with a high collar, and holds a clipboard in her hand. Every inch of her skin is covered: blue surgical gloves for her hands, a white mask for her mouth and nose, a cap for her hair. But I can see her dark eyes through the clear goggles.

  “What did you do to her?” I say.

  The woman glances at her watch and jots down a note on her clipboard papers. “You’re in decontamination. How do you feel? Any fever?”

  I stare at her for a few seconds before shaking my head.

  “Nausea? Light-headedness?”

  “No.” I look back at Liss.

  “Well, it looks good for you. As soon as everyone wakes up we’ll begin full orientation.”

  “When will that be?” I look down the line. Kean is in the next compartment. And Henry in the next one over.

  “Doctor,” a male voice comes from somewhere. The woman looks away.

  “Patient five is waking.”

  The woman nods and walks back to a desk full of papers and computers with flashing blips on the screen.

  Down the far end I see movement. I rush over and press my hands against the glass. For the first time I notice my hands are wrapped in white bandages. I look back up.

  “Trouble!” I scream.

  He looks disorientated but the blood is gone from his face. His eyes move slow and careful over his surroundings. Finally Trouble sees me and puts a hand to the glass. I smile to let him know it’s ok, even though I don’t know it is. He stares for a moment and then nods. I nod too. I watch the woman doctor trying to ask him the same questions she asked me. Trouble stares at her blankly.

  “He doesn’t speak English,” I say.

  The woman looks back at me, jots something on her clipboard and returns to the desk.

  After a few minutes I sit on the floor, dividing my attention between Liss and the woman outside. At some point I must zone out because suddenly Kean is standing against our dividing wall staring at me. I jump up and put my bandaged hands against the glass. He glances at them and looks back at me. He places his fingertips over mine and looks around. And then he smiles. “We made it,” he says. I barely hear the words through the glass but the speakers carry just enough of the sound into my room.

  “You certainly did. Kean Kinley?” The woman looks into his glass room.

  “How…”

  “We found the license in your pocket. How are you feeling? Any fever?”

  Kean looks back at me, studying my eyes. “No,” he says.

  “Any nausea, light-headedness, anything like that?”

  “No,” he says again, still staring at me. Suddenly he points behind me. I glance over my shoulder. Liss is sitting up on her bed. I rush over and she sees me.

  “It’s ok, Liss.” I say, unable to keep my smile at bay. “We’re here. We’re safe.”

  The woman asks Liss the same series of questions. Liss stares at the woman for a long time before answering.

  Finally the woman says, “Unlock the decontamination units.”

  There’s a hiss and a door appears in the sheet glass wall. It’s barely there, just a plastic seal visible where before there was nothing. The woman waits as someone similarly dressed walks the line of compartments, pushing each door in. We emerge from the glass boxes and meet in the middle. Liss clings to my waist. Henry sits in his wheelchair between Kean and Trouble. There’s a kind of stunned and cautious silence between us. Surely everyone else is thinking the same as me. Is this real?

  The woman pulls down her mask and smiles, but it’s emotionless, and maybe a little cold. “Welcome,” she says. “I’m glad to report you’re all infection free.”

  “What is this place?” Kean says.

  “We are the last line of defence in this war.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “This right here is a medical laboratory, one of many within the Arcadium facility. We house forty-seven research staff and three-hundred-and-eighty-four civilians. Walk with me.” The woman presses something on the white concrete wall and pushes the door wide open. She strides out into the corridor and we all follow.

  “Arcadium has one purpose, and one purpose only.” She glances over her shoulder. “To find a cure.”

  “A cure. Is that even possible?” Kean says.

  The woman looks back and takes off her goggles and cap. Her hair is dark and rolled into a bun. “We hope so.”

  We pause as she punches a code into a keypad and then follow her through another set of glass doors.

  “Of course, housing civilians is a by product of what we do. Once we have a cure, we’re going to need a population to rebuild from.” She pauses suddenly and we all bump into each other trying to stop in time. “Forgive me.” She puts her hand to her chest. “I haven’t met anyone new for quite some time. I’m Doctor Sandra Hope, head of the biological research wing and patient admittance.” Doctor Hope leads us down a narrow concrete hallway with fluorescent lights and rows of doors spaced just a few metres apart.

  “Accommodation is basic, but we have a school for under sixteen’s, a library, a gym and a mess hall with hot food. Once you’re settled you’ll be expected to participate in work duties. But for now…” She stops abruptly and puts her hand on a door. “Make yourselves at home. I am assuming you’re all together?” She glances at Trouble. There’s something about her cold stare that I don’t like. “Yeah,” I say. “We’re family.”

  Doctor Hope gives me a strange look. “Inside you’ll find clean clothes. Down the hall to the left you’ll find the bathrooms, and to the right, the mess hall. Breakfast is six to seven. Lunch is twelve to one. Dinner is six to seven. Any questions?”

  “I have one,” Kean says, raising his hand. “How long were we out for?”

  “Approximately six days.”

  “Holy crap,” he says.

  Doctor Hope’s lips tighten and she looks at me. “Three of your fingers are broken, another two have hairline fractures. You also have a nasty cut on your head that’s been stitched up, so I’ll need to check up on you later.” She nods and then turns. We all watch her walk away and round the corner. Her white lab coat flutters and for the first time I realise she’s wearing heels. The footsteps echo like stabbing knives against the concrete.

  The first thing I do is put an arm over Liss’ shoulder, and then I hug her to me. “I thought for sure it was all over in t
hat elevator.”

  Kean looks at me, then at my hands, and then at Liss. He looks back at the door. We stand in the middle of a bland concrete hallway, huddled close like a herd of animals.

  Henry clears his throat. “Let’s have a look inside then.”

  Kean opens the door and we peer in.

  “Not exactly what I’d call wheelchair accessible,” Henry says.

  The room is tiny and narrow, like an after thought, a cupboard to store an overflow of mess. It’s a concrete cave with bunk beds built into the walls; six spaces, two at waist level, two up high, and two so low they’re practically on the ground. The mattresses have white sheets and grey wool blankets, tucked in tightly. And on top are folded white clothes.

  Henry wheels himself in and transfers himself to one of the waist height beds. Liss sits on the other one.

  “What the…” Henry picks one of the clothing pieces. It’s a white long sleeved top with a high collar. “It looks like something from Star Trek. They really expect us to wear this stuff? Why can’t we wear our own clothes?”

  “Maybe they didn’t want to take a chance with the infection,” Kean says. “Probably incinerated them.”

  “What do we do now?” Henry asks, looking at me.

  For some reason I can’t speak.

  “Maybe…” Kean says. “Maybe, we should change and have a look around. Is that bed good for you?”

  Henry nods. “Yeah, I can get in and out easily.”

  “And Liss? Is that your bed?”

  Liss nods.

  “Florence?”

  “I’ll sleep under Liss.” Since the outbreak we’ve been sleeping on the ground, or near enough. It feels wrong to do anything else.

  “I’ll sleep under Henry, so Trouble can have one of the top bunks.” Kean gestures to Trouble and taps the top two bunks. Trouble puts his hand on the one above Henry.

  “Well, that’s sorted. I guess we should get changed.”

  We’re all in our hospital gowns so it’s easy enough to change with dignity. I slip into the white pants and pull them up with my thumbs. Some of my fingers stab with pain; others ache with the small effort. I wonder what they look like under all the bandages, but at the same time I don’t want to see the damage.

  The uniform material is soft and stretchy, almost like leggings but thick enough not to be see-through. I turn my back to the others and slip on the top. It’s more like a snug fitting jacket, with a high collar that makes a V down to my collarbone. The front has a diagonal zip that stretches all the way up and there are no pockets. It seems weirdly trendy for the apocalypse.

  “I feel like I’ve been inducted into a weird fashion cult,” Kean says, zipping up his jacket.

  Henry’s in his uniform, and he lies back on the bed, laughing. “Kean, you look like you should be in an ABBA tribute show.”

  “Alright, Captain Cook. Get in your wheels, we need to explore,” Kean says, and then he looks at me.

  I pull a small shrug and Kean’s eyes linger on me for a moment longer.

  In the hallway we fall into our single file places, just like on the outside. Trouble goes first, Liss and I follow, and Henry and Kean chase up the rear.

  We find the bathrooms first, but they’re pretty standard so we move on to the mess hall. It’s a great big square room, with bladed fans spinning lazily on the low ceiling. Basic tables and benches are set up in rows. It’s huge, but then I suppose it has to feed over three hundred people so it makes sense. Down the very end is a kitchen and serving area. People dressed in the same white uniforms are moving around behind the glass but they don’t notice us.

  “How do they feed so many people?” Kean says, but no one answers.

  As we filter out the door again Kean drops back and walks beside me. Henry and Liss go on ahead with Trouble.

  Kean taps me gently with his elbow. “Are you alright?” he says. “You seem quiet.”

  “I’m ok,” I say. “Tired, I think.” But it’s more than that. I feel slow like I’m ebbing out of a deep sleep.

  “It looks like you took a battering when the car hit the infected person.”

  “I wasn’t wearing a seatbelt.”

  He nods. In the seconds that follow I can tell he wants to say something, but maybe he doesn’t know what. Or perhaps he knows, but isn’t sure he should say it.

  I look over and half smile. “It’s a catch twenty-two, I put my seatbelt on and I can’t get away fast enough, I don’t wear it and we crash.” I shrug.

  Kean slows down and reaches over suddenly. His fingers sit against my hair and his thumb smoothes gently over my forehead. “How does your head feel?”

  “Fine.” I blink. “Why?”

  Kean’s hand drops away. “You shouldn’t look in a mirror, then.”

  “Why not?” I touch my fingertips to my face. I can feel the bandage on my forehead now; I hadn’t even noticed it before. Of course my head would be damaged, it smacked into the dashboard on impact.

  My temple feels swollen too, right down to my cheekbone. “How bad is it?” I ask.

  “You kind of have a rainbow on your face.”

  Dammit. It’s forever impossible to look good in the apocalypse. Meanwhile Kean looks fine. More than fine…

  “Are you ok?” Kean asks. “You’re staring.”

  I look dead ahead. “This is just insane,” I say.

  The next room we find is the library. It’s just another windowless concrete cube, nearly identical to the mess hall except for its contents. Study tables and chairs sit in the centre. Hundreds of books line the shelves, including a lot of huge medical textbooks on crazy topics like genetic mathematics and evolution biology.

  One wall holds a huge flat screen TV, and below it, dark couches sit in rows, just like a movie theatre. On the opposing wall and visible through giant windows, is a school classroom full of children.

  A woman spots us wandering aimlessly and comes over. “Hello,” she says. “I’m Linda, head librarian. You must be the new survivors.” She looks us over carefully with a polite smile.

  “I’m Kean, this is my brother Henry. That’s Trouble, he doesn’t speak English. And this is Florence and her sister, Liss.”

  “My, my. I bet you have some interesting stories about the outside. You must be so relieved to be safe finally.”

  “Yeah,” Kean says. “We are. It’s all kind of overwhelming at the moment.”

  “I can only imagine. Well, why don’t I tell you about the library? We have plenty of books. You can take one fiction book at a time and we ask you return it as soon as you’ve finished. There are a lot of medical science texts here mainly for the staff in the labs. We don’t mind you reading them but just ask that you don’t take them out of the library.” Linda bunches her hands into fists and holds them up for a moment as if she’s about to go skiing. “Oh, and of course… the television is available for use. After dinner we always put on a movie, if you’d like to join us. We have plenty of DVD’s, and a few private TV rooms too, if you’d prefer.”

  “Is that the school?” Kean says.

  Linda turns toward the glass and we all follow suit. “Yes. We have three classes for sixty-seven children in total.”

  “That’s a lot.”

  “Yes… well… they are the future, aren’t they?” Linda smiles. “I’ll leave you to it. My desk is over there if you need anything at all.”

  “Thanks,” Kean says. He turns to the others. “Do you guys want to hang out here for a while? Maybe get Linda to put on a DVD for you. I have to head back to the room.”

  Liss and Henry race over to Linda, while Trouble meanders through the bookshelves. Kean looks at me. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Some place to talk.”

  “About what?” I follow him into the hallway.

  “Let’s go back to the room so we can sit down.”

  I don’t really have a reason to protest, and it’s not like I don’t want to be alone with
Kean, it’s just… I don’t know. Everything feels like a foggy dream. Kean leads me back to the sleeping quarters. The door shuts, encasing us in concrete, and I sit on the edge of Liss’ bed. Kean sits across from me. The room is so narrow our knees are almost touching. He stares at me with a furrowed brow.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Do your hands hurt?”

  “No.” I blink. “Why?”

  “They must have you on some crazy painkillers,” Kean says, shifting forward even closer. “Can I see?”

  I extend my hands to him, palms up, and Kean holds them for a moment. He begins to unwind one of the bandages, taking care to be gentle. He keeps going until all that’s left is swollen purple bruised skin. My fingers are taped together and kept straight with splints.

  He unwinds the other one and it looks slightly better: only two fingers taped together. Kean rests my battered hands on his knees and reaches for my forehead, carefully pulling back a corner of the bandage. I flinch at a sting of pain and he pauses.

  Kean sucks in a sharp breath and his lips move with a silent count. “You have eight stitches.” He smoothes out the bandage again and wraps my hands back up.

  “Are you hurt?” I ask.

  Kean shakes his head. “Nah.” Then his eyes light up. “Unless you count this.” Without warning he unzips his white jacket and bares his chest. There’s a thick red graze running diagonally over his collarbone, over his smooth contours and just-defined muscles. It’s like I’m stuck in a trance for a moment. Eventually I lift my eyes to the red mark, and then to his face.

  “Seatbelt burn,” he says, zipping up the jacket again. “Do you think maybe you should rest? You seem dazed.”

  “I feel foggy,” I say. “I suppose.” I lie back on Liss’ bed and Kean sits back on Henry’s, bringing up his knees. He sits there watching me as I drift away into the sleepy fog.