Just breathe.
Chapter 15
"Positive," a voice calls from the other side of my eyelids. "You're up for Testing. Exit your cell."
Atticus stands with his hands folded across his chest in his cell. The look on his face tells me something must have happened while I was asleep. I pull the covers off and slip into my white slip-ons. My cell door opens with the familiar hissing sound. The NGs stand on either side of the opening while I make my way towards them.
"Sal!" Atticus' voice makes me jump. I turn to look at his withering glare. He doesn't try to smile, he doesn't say pretty, nice,warming things. Instead, he looks me square in the face and says, "It's going to hurt, but try and think about good things. It'll take your mind off it."
I gulp, just like those cartoon characters that I used to watch when I was a kid. I would've preferred Atticus to lie and say it wouldn't be so bad. Kind of like doctors used to before the chips when vaccines were given by needles—even though that basically brought on my fear of needles. I nod as I pass by since words won't leave my throat.
The walk is silent aside from the dull pleas from the other Positive's pleas to be released. I walk with my hands squeezing each other until they're throbbing. We walk down the long barren hallways until we reach another set of red doors. My heart pounds in my head. I'm back at the first day I arrived here. I can here my screams echo inside my head. Tears well in my eyes as my steps stutter.
The NG on my right bumps into me when I freeze outside the doors. "Seriously kid, just get a move on!"
"Positive, step forward."
My breathing comes in gasps. I clutch at my chest for air. A tingling in my nose alerts me that another nosebleed is starting. A warm wetness travels down my upper lip, mixing with tears. "I—I don't want to do this—"
"Well, you don't have a choice unless you want to live," the NG on my right growls. He shoves me hard towards the door, and I catch myself on the wall just before I hit my face against the red paint."Move!"
"Samson!" a voice shouts over the loudspeaker. The NG rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.
"Yes, sir?"
"Report to my office now. Reagents can handle this transport alone."
He grunts, looks down his nose at me and stomps off in the opposite direction. I can only assume that was Michael over the loudspeaker. No one else has cared enough here to put a stop to anything. I hate him just as much as I'm grateful to have someone else on my side.
A cold stale breeze blasts on my face as the red door opens. The room is empty aside from a metal table and reclining chair. The chair is worn in several places on the cream leather. As I get closer, stains pop up on several parts of the chair that I can only use my imagination to guess what they're from.
The NG escorting me leaves the room in one hushed movement. The fear that I felt the very first day I was brought here comes rushing back. My dad's vacant stare bores a hole into the back of my head. My mother's silence screams in my ears. I look for an exit in the bare room and only see the back of the red door where I came from. I sprint to it and begin pounding my fists into it.
"Please let me out! I want out! Please! Somebody!" The desperation in my voices drowns out the sound of my sobbing. I don't want to be here. It isn't my fault I am what I am. I didn't have a choice. "I want to speak to Atticus! Please let me talk to Atticus!"
The door clicks and beings to swing open. I back away not sure what or who is coming through is friendly enough to let me stay in my current panicked state. Michael walks through the door in full hazmat gear with a large machine that I've never seen before. He closes the door behind him and raises his wrist to the door. The sound of gears echo somewhere from inside it until a loud click booms throughout the room.
"What are you going to do to me in here?" My voice comes out as a tiny whimper. I clear my throat and hug myself.
"First and foremost, I want to apologize about NG Samson who brought you here," he says, wheeling the machine past me. "He was instructed to transport you at all costs to Testing. He seemed to have missed the memo about mistreating Positives in order to accomplish that goal. For that, I am truly sorry."
"You haven't answered—"
Michael raises his hand to stop me. I press my lips together and squeeze myself to tighter to prevent myself from shaking. "Testing is another place in our facility that's sole purpose is to discover how to remove your chip." He steps on the brakes of the machine and locks it into place next to the chair. "As you're aware, the Cure Chip can embed itself into the lymph nodes, making it not only very dangerous to remove, but potentially life-threatening to the patient. Testing is a way to get around that."
"So, what are you going to do to me?"
"Mostly x-rays," he responds. "MRIs aren't the best route at discovering the defect in your chip due to the magnetic properties in the metal of the chip."
"And say you're able to detect the defect in my chip," I say, fearing that I already know the answer. "What happens then?"
"The research will be used to help Positives like yourself."
"Michael, how many Positives has Testing actually worked for?"
His eyes turn away from me. The silence is the only answer I need. None—Testing hasn't saved a single Positive that walked through the red door. I grip my hands until they throb.
Michael turns back to after covering the chair with a blue plastic wrap. "I promise I won't hurt you. You don't have to be afraid anymore."
But I am. I'm petrified I'll never live again outside these walls.
Chapter 16
My head throbs with my heartbeat. The x-rays were only the beginning of the Testing. Michael ruled out surgery on my Cure Chip since it was unsuccessful the first time. The nose bleeds were thanks to the dry air of my cell. He thought for sure that was a symptom of my chip.
"So, they have nothing on you?"
Atticus flipped when he found out they sent me to Testing. They told him I wasn't going there until later. But he should know better by now. We're just objects here; things for the NDs to poke and prod until they find out what makes us change. Usually by then, according to Michael, we don't make it.
"Just nosebleeds because of the dry air," I respond, picking at a scab where blood was drawn. The veins in my arms are bruised a dark bluish purple. They're sore, but they don't bother me in the slightest. Anything is better than realizing you're going to die at the hands of the people who are supposed to be helping you.
"That's much better than what they told me," he says, tapping his finger on the glass.
"What did they tell you?"
He looks up at me and opens his mouth to speak, but ours doors swoosh open. Two new NGs enter our wing. "Recreational time for you two."
We exit our cells. Atticus leans on my shoulder now for support as we walk down the hallway. His limp has gotten much worse over the past several days. Deep down, I know we don't have much more time together. Whether it's the chip that takes him away from me or the NDs is up in the air.
Gray clouds cover the sky today. The parking lot is damp from a recent rain that fell. We make our way to our usual spot against the basketball hoops. The ball has gone completely flat as the weather changes to something like winter. I grab it and sneak it under Atticus's leg.
"I can tell you took care of your sister," he comments as I sit next him. "You don't have to do that for me."
"It's the only thing I can focus on right now." The truth was that I couldn't get Michael's voice out of my head anymore. Every Testing session came with no changes, but the blood tests revealed that I'm still a Positive. He couldn't debunk why though. Each test comes back Positive, but my symptoms say that I'm Negative. I can't help but think that you're not supposed to be in here.
I have avoided talking to Atticus about this for weeks because I know he's dying. He doesn't need to hear that there is absolutely nothing wrong with me, and actually, I might be here by mistake. A flaw in the system. A
flaw like he is.
"What's going on?" He grips my shoulder tight.
I make eye contact with him and feel my gut drop. The questions that lie just beyond his stare make me nauseous. He thinks something atrocious is going on in my Testing sessions, but in all honesty, nothing is happening. I wish every night before the mist falls that something will come back on my tests—anything at all really—just so I can tell him that I'm just like him. That I'm a Positive and that's the reason I'm here.
But nothing comes back. I'm always wondering when my chip will malfunction. What it'll be like when I start getting sick. Will I lose all feeling like Atticus? Will I suffocate from an asthma attack like Elaine? Or do I already have a tumor that's slowly killing me? I can take the news of being a Positive. What I can't take is the waiting—the not knowing.
"They don't know what's wrong with me," I respond. "They've tested me for everything under the sun, but the results are inconclusive."
"So, the NDs can't help you," Atticus says, looking down at his limp hands. "Why even keep you here then?"
"Michael said it's because my initial test still says Positive."
"Well yeah, of course it does. Your chip is still in."
"But that's it, Atticus. That's all it shows!" My voice strains getting past my throat. Atticus frowns at my tone and reaches a limp hand out toward me. I turn away before any tears fall. I always hated when people tried to comfort me when I cry. I didn't need pity. I needed to be alone. I need to be alone.
"Sal—"
"I don't want to talk about Testing anymore."
"What if the chip is the only thing keeping you here?" He adjusts himself against the pole and winces once he's sitting up straight. "What if this is all a huge mistake? What if—what if someone is controlling the chips?"
I frown. "That's like, some conspiracy crap."
"Think about it though," he says, looking over his shoulder at me. "Only some people got sick at first. Most of the people who died had pre-existing conditions from before the chips. Like myself for instance. But I didn't die with the first wave I'd people—it's like it's coming in waves."
"I've never been sick though," I respond, thinking back to before the chip was implanted. "I didn't have any illnesses. My parents were just getting the chip as a precaution."
Atticus looks off into the distance, chewing on his bottom lip. "I think that's problem, Sal." He turns back toward me, and I feel my blood run cold. "The people who were sick were desperate to fix their issues. But for someone like you, with no pre-existing illness or conditions—maybe you really don't belong here."
"Positives!"
The guards wave us over from the basketball hoop. Raindrops splatter on the asphalt leaving dark gray circles behind. I let out a sigh as the next few raindrops slither down my forehead into my eyelashes. There's no use in trying to keep my hair tame anymore. The water here forced me to put it in twists. I hold out my hand for Atticus and wait for him to grip it. A metal clinking catches my ears. I turn in the direction it came from and see Atticus seizing on the ground; his head banging into the pipe repeatedly.
"Atticus!" I throw myself between him and the pole. His body vibrates in my arms as I hold his head just off the ground. His eyes are in the back of his head showing only the whites. The veins in his neck bulge until the bluish gray grow darker. "Help!"
The NGs come sprinting through the parking lot followed by several doctors. They pry me off of Atticus once they reach me and the doctors get him on a stretcher. The NDs talk among each other and shake their heads while Atticus slowly stops seizing.
"Are you going to help him or are you just gonna stand there!" They all turn at once and stare at me as if I said something strange. "He's sick—"
"Ha!" The guard to my left raises an eyebrow at me. "You;re joking right? She's joking, right?"
"Help him—"
"I'll take it from here gentlemen." The NGs part as Michael walks across the parking lot.
"Michael, he seized. I think it's the chip. You have to help him—"
"I'm going to see what I can do to make him comfortable," Michael responds, grabbing my shoulders to keep me from shaking. "But Miss Cuevas, he has been very sick for a very long time."
My head shakes. They're gonna let him die. This isn't a sanctuary like Michael said. This isn't a placing of healing and progress. This is where you com to die. This place is a death camp. I back away from them with my arms out. "You're gonna let him die?
"Salvatora—"
"Don't try and sugar coat it for anymore!" The NGs tense up with my raising voice. They stand between me and Michael. It's me against them, and I have no chance of winning this battle.
"The fact of the matter is, Atticus is much worse health wise than he's been allowing you to see. It's a miracle his nervous system has held on this long." Sound escapes my ears. Michael's voice comes out in a muffled mess until there's nothing but the pounding of my heart in my ears. My only friend here. The only person I could trust in this place is slipping away and the worst part is, there's nothing anyone can do about it.
I'm running toward the warehouse through the rain before I have to listen anymore. It almost felt like I was free. Footsteps boom behind me like I'm about to make a break for the fence. All I want is to go where Atticus is. He's the only person who's made me feel safe, and I need that more than ever.
A stiff arm grabs me around the waist and lifts me from the ground. "Let me go!" I pound away at the NGs arms until my fists throbs. His arm slides further up my body until his hand is within inches from my mouth. I bite down until my teeth go through the yellow layer between him and I.
The NG yells out in pain. "She bit me!"
A small prick finds my neck. An icy cold liquid travels through my body until my limbs stop moving. My vision goes blurry for a moment before focusing in on Michael running toward us.
"Don't hurt her!"
Chapter 17
Today is the one month anniversary of becoming a Positive. It’s also the one month anniversary of my parent’s abandoning me. I guess you could throw in the anniversary of the health system, justice system and government failing me as well. I braid my hair to kill the time but also to keep it from changing to dreadlocks. My knuckles are cracked and bleeding—I blame the water. Who knows what they're putting in it anymore. Scary to think what it could be. But what scares me the most is watching the only person I trust wither away.
Everyday since his seizure on the basketball court, Atticus gets worse. He started coughing up blood yesterday. Through a half-smile and bloody teeth, he tried to reassure me that he was fine, but I think we both know better. He’s dying, and I’m petrified.
"Well, happy one month," he says through a coughing fit. "You've officially been here thirty days and lived to tell the tale."
"Yeah, I guess."
"Maybe they'll give you a plaque or a cake or something, right?"
I shrug my shoulders.
“You ok Sal?”
I smile at the nickname. “Just thinking.”
“I can tell,” he responds taking his usual seat on the other side of the glass.
His lips resemble a desert; blood clings to the fraying pieces of skin desperately trying to hold on. The color of his skin makes me worry that he’ll collapse at any moment.
“I’m fine," he says, letting out a sigh.
“No, you’re not—”
“It doesn’t matter anymore, Sal. Everyone's gotta die at some point. There’s no use worrying about me anymore than you already have.”
“How can you say that with a straight face?” I shake my head, looking away from him. “I don’t want to lose my only friend in here. I’m not ready for that.”
He lets out a long sigh. “You’re young, and I know you’ve probably experienced more death in the past couple months than any sixteen-year-old should,” he says, picking at the dead skin on his lips. “But worrying about me isn’t going to heal me. W
e both know that.”
“Then what should we do?”
He lets out another sigh and shakes his head. "I think we should focus on getting out of here," he responds.
His expression is calm, as if he just commented on the weather. "Excuse me?"
"I think we should go."
"How are we supposed to do that?"
"I don't know," he says, shrugging. "I haven't worked out the logistics of it, but it definitely—sort of, maybe— is possible."
"You saw what happened to our neighbor." My heart pounds in my ribcage. I'm not quite sure if it's from fear or excitement. I want to leave here, but the memory of my neighbor in the electrified fence still haunts me. "We can't go through that fence."
"You must've forgotten that I've been here much longer than you," he responds, smiling. "I've seen other exits. Exits the guards and doctors use. They lead to an opening in the fence that goes straight into dirt road that leads into a forest."
"So if we make there, we're going to be in the woods?"
"Most likely, for a little while." He scoots closer to the glass wall between us. "But we'll be free. We can hide in one of the small towns around here. No one will know us and most people won't say anything—"
"Aside from the fact that we're branded."
"We can hide those—"
"Atticus," I say, rubbing the nerves from my skin. "There's a lot of maybes that make me think this is a bad idea."
"But don't you want to get away from here? Don't you want to leave?"
"Of course I do," I respond. "But what about you? You're sick, Atticus. Who's going to be able to help you out there?"
"I don't care about any of that." He shakes his head and looks out of the front of his cell. "I don't want them to keep us here if they're not going to fix us."
"They're trying to," I say. "I trust Michael. He really is trying to figure things out. He's trying to make things better for us."
"How can trust him like that? He's the reason we're stuck in this place. They're keeping us here because they don't know what else to do." Atticus coughs several times, wiping blood onto the back of his hand once he's finished. He looks down at the red stain and shakes his head at it. "Look at us, Sal. Testing isn't fixing us. They're borderline experimenting on you because they can't figure out what's making you tick."
Positive Page 6
