My lips tighten into a straight line.
"Did they hurt you?"
I frown again trying to remember him.
"Are you sick?"
My father. The man who was supposed to protect me is now standing right in front of me, and I want nothing to do with him.
"Please, Salvatora. Answer me—"
"You left me here to rot."
A flash of sadness washes across his face. He swallows, looks down at his feet and rubs his palms with his thumb. "I didn't know—"
"Don't." I say, putting my hand up to stop him. "You and Mom left me here without even trying to stop the DPA. Now, I'm stuck here forever—"
"Mom's at a research facility in Boston," he responds, scooting to the edge of his chair. "She's sick."
"Sick? Sick how?"
Tears line the bottom lids of my father's eyes. "Before you were born, your mother—" his voice stops. He clears his throat as his tears hit the concrete floor. "Your mother had cancer. It was so bad. The doctor's gave less than two weeks to live. We decided to try an experimental cure in hopes it would save her."
The chip. I reach my scar on my neck and press down. The small lump of my chip presses against my skin.
"Within days, your mother was healthy again," my father continues without looking up from the ground. "About one month later, we found out about you. And then shortly after, your sister. It was the happiest we'd been since your mother was cured."
"Then why did you leave me here? Why didn't you let me go to Boston with Mom? I'm trapped in here, Dad. This is a prison!"
"The DPA were coming for us, Sal." He adjusts himself in his seat and leans closer to me. "They knew about Elaine, they knew about Mom, and they knew we couldn't get your chip out."
"What are you saying? Why are you telling me this?"
"The removal surgery worked, Sal."
I shake my head. "No," I respond. "No, it didn't. I can feel it. I can feel it right under my scar—"
"You're a Positive because it's in your blood. Not because it's in your chip."
"Time's up." The NG grabs my father under his arm and drags him away from me.
"No!"
"Please, wait! I'm not finished—"
"Dad!"
They struggle all the way to the door. I pound on the glass to my cell. I feel like I could break it with my panic alone. My father stretches his head to look over his shoulder at me. "Sal!" he yells, and the door slams behind him.
And I stand there, stoic, silent, with no emotions left anymore.
Chapter 21
My pillow is drenched with sweat when I finally wake up. Seeing my father was something I already signed off weeks ago. I thought for sure he'd done the same. Michael came after his visit to see if I needed anything as well as to slip me another pill. I sobbed into his shoulder for a good fifteen minutes. Afterwards, I felt ridiculous. I thought being in here would callous me—make me stronger, a better person even. But after seeing my dad and hearing that my mother was dying, I realized that I'm still a sixteen-year-old little girl and nothing more.
I swipe the back of my hand across my forehead. My feet hit the bare floor; the concrete feels like ice against my skin. The room spins slightly when I stand up straight. I frown trying to regain my balance. What's happening to me?
The gray door at the end of the hallway swings open and several men in black riot gear march in followed by a group of people is various color suits and dresses. Michael walks in behind them with a furrowed brow, but when he makes eye contact with me, a smile creeps across his face.
"This is the Positive that you said was abnormal?"
"Yes," Michael responds.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, sir."
They look at each other and a dull murmur among the people in suits breaks out. I try to listen, but the spinning gets worse, forcing me to collapse to my knees. I vomit on the floor just in front of me. A collective groan makes its way to my ears.
"She's sick!"
"Get a blood sample to the lab."
"What a waste of time."
Hands grab under my arms and lift me onto another floating bed. I turn my head to the left and see Michael wheeling me out of my room.
"What—"
"Shh," he says, looking down at me. "I told you to trust me, right?"
I nod and close my eyes, handing over my life to the Negative with the green eyes and praying that I wake up again.
* * *
I wake up in my parents SUV. Elaine is in the back seat with me. "You were totally drooling all over your own shoulder," she laughs, touching the spot on my shoulder. "You're gross."
My heart skips a beat. I felt her finger through the thin layer of fabric from my shirt. I gawk at her.
"Why are you staring at me like that?"
"You're alive."
"Yeah," she says, frowning.
"But I saw you—" My words trail off. I don't know what to say to her. Is this real? The last thing I remember was Michael telling me to trust him. We were—we were going somewhere.
"We're almost there," my mother's voice says from the passenger seat. "Salvatora, stop trying to scare your sister with that nonsense again."
"Mom?"
"Oh no, you're not fooling me with one of your crazy stories again," she responds. "Just wait until we get there before you start telling me we're all gonna get sick. You know that isn't possible."
"The chips aren't going to work though—"
"What is she talking about, Dad?" Elaine asks, looking at me with a scrunched-up expression.
"Salvatora, that's enough."
The sky grows darker. A dozen people run past my window. The groups get larger as we continue driving forward. I look out the car window and see an enormous tidal wave rolling it's way toward us. Cars get sucked under the water ahead of us. People sprint away in herds from the wave.
"We've gotta get out of here!"
"Just calm down, Sal."
"Everything will be alright."
"Yeah, Sal. Chill."
The water crashes into our windshield, shattering it in an instant. It wraps its arms around me until I'm shivering. I look around at my family. Not an ounce of panic crosses their faces. They laugh and laugh and laugh until the water completely submerges them.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and pry at the door handle. Breathing is impossible. My vision tunnels. I swim toward the opening where the windshield was, but my pant leg gets caught on a shard of glass.
This is it—real or not, I know I'm dying. I pull at my leg as the car drags me down deeper. I can barely see two inches in front of me. Hands grab under my arms and pull. When I look up, all I see are green eyes staring at me before everything goes black.
* * *
"Salvatora?"
My head throbs at the sound of Michael's voice. I open my eyes and strain to keep them that way in the blinding light. "Turn that off," I groan.
The light dims to a dull amber. "How are you feeling?"
"What did you do to me?" I ask, pushing myself up along a mattress.
"It looks like your chip finally malfunctioned," he responds. Michael pulls a chair alongside. "I'm just trying to make you comfortable now."
I look down at him, my heart leaping to my throat. "What?"
He grips my hand and slides another pill into my palm. "I'm sorry, Salvatora. There's nothing I can do anymore."
Through the glass, I see several of the people from before passing out shake their heads at clipboards they hold in front of them. "Just another screw up," one says before stomping out through the gray door.
A tall female in red shoes and a maroon pantsuit comes through my doorway. "We're going to need follow up reports on this Michael," she says. "Something doesn't seem right about the blood work. Report back to us tomorrow. If everything lines up, then we'll be on our way back to the capital."
"Yes, ma'am."
They leave
in unison, one by one through the gray door until it's just Michael and myself.
"I'm going to die?"
He looks up at the camera in the hallway and then, back at me. "Probably," he says, patting my hand. "But I won't leave you here."
I squeeze the pill in my hand, not knowing whether to continue to trust Michael or to trust that the fact that I am Positive.
We make eye contact again, but this time, he winks. I close my eyes and swallow the pill one last time.
Chapter 22
My mother always said that when you die, you go to a better place. That everything that mattered in this life will mean nothing in the afterlife. She believed in heaven and forgiveness and a bright shining light that would welcome you with open arms.
But everything is dark now. I’m not sure if this is death or somewhere in between. I can’t feel pain. I don’t hear the man with the green eyes. Atticus’s voice is only a memory to me wherever I am—you could call it a bad dream even. My fever makes me a hallucinate
In this moment of silence, I can’t focus on anything else but the peaceful embrace I find myself in.
Am I dying? Probably.
Do I care? Not one damn bit.
Positive Page 8
