by Kody Boye
When they returned, they considered my condition before meeting each other’s gazes.
“We’d like to keep you here for one last night,” Doctor Peterson said, “just to ensure your infection does not get any worse.”
“Can you untie me?”
Both doctors examined me before saying, “No.”
I sighed.
It was going to be a long night.
“You’re not going to release her?” my mother asked as she and Xiomara returned that following afternoon.
“No ma’am,” Doctor Arnold Peterson said. “We have to ensure her infection does not get out of control.”
Or that I don’t flip out and strangle someone, I wanted to say, but held my tongue as my mother stared at the doctor with unwavering eyes.
Xiomara—who’d been listening intently up until that final moment—stepped forward and reached down to gently take my right hand. “How’re you feeling?”
“Like a word I’d rather not say in front of Mama,” I replied, which instantly brought a smile to her lips.
“Ana Mia!” my mother said.
“I’m kidding, Mama.”
“My poor little Mia,” she said, taking my left hand and stroking the top of my wrist. “Have these doctors been treating you well?”
“They have,” I said, shifting—hoping that she would not try to readjust my blankets. I didn’t want her to see the straps across my chest and waist. She’d lose her mind—and likely try to kill one of the physicians in the process.
“My poor sweet child.” She stroked my hair. “My poor sugar plum. My poor Ana Mia.”
“I’ll be fine, Mama. It’s just a flesh wound.”
“That boy saved your life,” she said after a moment’s consideration. She lifted her eyes to look at Xiomara, who’d since released her hold on my hand. “Xiomara—could you do me a favor and go find this Parks boy? He lives in the tenth building on the bottom floor, the first apartment on your left. I want to thank him for saving my little girl.”
“Should I have him come here?” my sister asked. “Or should I—”
“Please,” I said, cutting her off. “Have him come here. I’d like to thank him as well.”
“All right.” Xiomara started toward the door. “I’ll go fetch him now.”
She was about to leave the infirmary when the door opened and someone stepped in.
“Speak of the devil,” my sister said.
“Xiomara Antonia!” my mother cried. “Don’t you dare say that lecherous creature’s name out loud.”
“I didn’t think I’d inspire that much response,” a familiar voice said.
I smiled. “Jason. You came.”
The young man appeared with a bouquet of wildflowers arranged within a simple glass vase. He set them on the table next to my stretcher. The scent of bluebonnets drifted out to me, as did the smell of roses that’d been carefully trimmed to remove their thorns. It was, in a word, beautiful—and a fine gesture that I hadn’t expected from someone I barely knew.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I said as I turned my head to admire the flowers.
“Asha helped me pick the flowers,” he said. “We had a horrible time getting outside the walls, but Captain Henshaw assured the day guards we would be perfectly fine.”
“You didn’t have any trouble?” I asked.
“Asha got stung by a bee, but other than that, no.”
“Poor thing,” my mother said. “Give her my thanks when you see her next.”
“I will.” He reached down to take hold of my left hand and gave it a firm squeeze to draw my attention. “Are you doing all right?”
“I’m better than I could be,” I replied. “That’s all that matters to me.”
“Good.” Smiling, he stepped back to examine me and frowned. “I’ll leave you be, then. I know you need your rest.”
“Thank you, Jason. Tell Asha I said thank you if you see her before I do.”
With one final nod, Jason left.
“We should go too,” Xio said, taking hold of my mother’s arm. “Ana needs her rest.”
“I don’t want to leave,” my mother said. “I want to stay.”
“Go, Mama.” I waved her off. “I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure, sweet child?”
I nodded.
Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to my cheek, then pulled away and walked out with my sister.
Their departure, as saddening as it was, relieved me.
I could finally sleep.
By the time I was released the following morning, I was starving, thirsty, and in need of some proper sleep in my own bed. Accompanied by Doctor Parish, she led me through the winding pathways of the apartment complex with ease—the bottle of prescription painkillers held tightly in her hand.
“If you have any questions,” the doctor said, “or you feel as though you need to return to the infirmary, please—don’t hesitate to seek me or one of my colleagues out.”
“Will I be all right?” I asked as we approached my apartment building. “I mean, I won’t get any sicker, will I?”
Stopping, she sighed, looking down at the prescription antibiotics in her hand. She passed me the bottle with little more than a nod. “You’re likely to have some issues with mobility for the time being. These may continue to make you feel nauseous, tired, unwilling to interact with the world very much. All I can recommend is that you take it easy and remain off the walls—at least until you’re starting to feel better. You don’t want your infection to get any worse, or your body to weaken and get sick as a result.”
“No,” I said. “I definitely don’t.”
The doctor pressed a hand to my shoulder and smiled. “Good luck, Ana Mia. If you need me, you know where to find me.”
“Thank you.”
Watching her walk off for several long moments, I turned, steadied myself on the nearby wall, and knocked.
Mama greeted me when the door opened. She took me into her arms. “Ana Mia. How are you feeling?”
“Hungry,” I replied. “Tired. Thirsty. Why aren’t you at work?”
“They gave me leave to make sure you were okay.” She held me at arm’s length as I entered the apartment. “My baby. You look like you haven’t slept at all.”
“I feel like I haven’t. Is there anything to eat?”
“Go sit. I’ll make you something.”
I did as she asked, collapsing upon the threadbare couch as if it were the greatest thing I had ever had the pleasure of lying upon. Instantly I wanted to sleep—to drift into the perpetual darkness that would undoubtedly secure both my sanity and my exhaustion—but when I heard my mother humming in the kitchen, I opened my eyes to look at the world around me.
It was so good to be home, to be safe, to be sheltered from the world and all its horrors.
As I started to nod off, I felt a hand touch my face. “Ana Mia?”
“Sorry.” I straightened my posture while I looked at the simple jelly sandwich she had prepared for me. “Thank you, Mama.”
“You should try and wake up this afternoon so you can eat lunch at the park,” she said, nodding as I took a bite out of the sandwich. “You need real food, Ana. Eggs. Toast. Fruits and vegetables.”
“I just want to sleep,” I said through a mouthful of food. “Really, Mom. I’m fine.”
She didn’t say anything. Rather, she simply stood, crossed her arms beneath her breasts, and gazed at me with sad eyes. “I don’t want you to get hurt anymore,” she said, her voice low and near the breaking point.
“I’m not going to get hurt anymore. Mama… really. It’s fine.”
Was it, though? I was safe—at least physically—and though I had suffered damage to my person, it wasn’t as if I wouldn’t recover. I was young, strong, bullheaded, confident, had enough antibiotics to last me for two weeks and a proper excuse to remain off the walls. But just because I was safely within the apartment didn’t mean I would not suffer emotionally as a result of my
near-death experience.
The flashback in the infirmary, the Coyote’s face, its eyes, teeth—
I grimaced as I tried not to think of the dreams I’d had, but to no avail.
“Mia?” my mother asked after a moment. “Your eye—”
“They don’t know what’s causing it,” I replied, cutting her off. “Don’t worry, Mama. Everything’s going to be fine.”
“I pray that it will.” She sighed, then turned and returned to the kitchen.
As I ate, and as I contemplated my own feelings on the matter, I hoped I wasn’t just lying to myself.
Chapter 7
Though my arm still hurt and it was almost impossible to move it without excruciating pain, I was determined to return to the walls only three days after being discharged from the hospital.
“Ana Mia Sofia Berrios!” my mother cried as I walked out of the room in full Guardsman attire. “Just where do you think you’re going?”
“The walls,” I replied, casting a glance at my sister. Though dressed and ready to go, she stood her ground, as if anticipating having to back me up in what would undoubtedly be a fight for the ages.
“She has to go.” Xiomara turned her head to look at me. “It’s her duty.”
“She couldn’t shoot a gun if she wanted to!”
“Not all the Guardsman need to have guns, Mama.”
“Ay ay ay,” my mother said, shaking her head as she paced to and fro. She fell into a string of Spanish. I tried my hardest to make out what she said based on my limited knowledge, but she spoke too fast for me to understand. Judging by Xiomara’s reaction, however, it appeared either amusing or completely outlandish.
“Everything’ll be fine.” I glanced at my arm, bandaged and in a secure sling. “I’ll just sit, make sure everything’s fine, then come back home in the morning.”
“You’re going to kill me someday, Ana Mia Sofia.”
“Mama.” I sighed.
Shaking her head, she waved her hand at the door. “Go,” she said, dismissively, as if we were children who had just disobeyed her utmost command. “Both of you.”
“All right,” Xiomara said, starting toward the threshold. “Goodnight, Mama.”
“Goodnight. Stay safe.”
“We will,” I replied.
Outside, Xiomara made sure to secure the door before we started for the armory. Our footsteps—lonely on a nearly-deserted road—echoed along the pavement as parents called for their children and laundry was pulled from the lines it was strung upon.
“Do you have any idea if Jason Parks is going to be on duty tonight?” I asked, looking up.
“You mean the kid who saved you?” She shrugged as she rolled her shoulders and neck. “Getting a little crush there, Sis?”
“No!” I gasped.
“He did bring you flowers. That says something about how he feels about you.”
“It was a gift from both him and Asha.”
“Aaaah.” My sister smiled. “So you like her too then, I take it?”
“Xiomara!”
She chuckled and playfully batted at my good shoulder. “You know I don’t judge, Mia.”
“I know,” I replied, then frowned and adjusted the strap along my collarbone. “It’s just… I don’t see the point in trying to be with anyone right now.”
“You’re young. You’ll find someone.”
“You haven’t,” I offered, “and you’ve been in the Guard for five years.”
“It’s demanding work. Who wants to give up a few hours of sleep just to be with a guy?”
“I sure don’t.”
Though I would kill to have some sort of attention, I couldn’t afford to make attachments at that point—not while I had so many commitments to the Guard. It’d be worthless to string someone along just to have them fall out from under me, especially if it were someone from the Guard. I couldn’t imagine trying to balance a relationship between guard duty and sleep. I’d either go completely mental from exhaustion or lose my mind from not being around them.
With a shake of my head, I looked up as we approached the armory.
A door opened as we went to enter, revealing none other than Jason Parks.
“Jason,” I breathed.
“Hey Ana.” A hint of a smile betrayed his usually-solemn lips. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay,” I said, peering down at my arm. “I mean, it still hurts, but it isn’t unbearable if it’s in a sling.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.”
“Look,” I said, stepping forward. I was surprised when I reached out and took hold of his arm—as if I’d completely lost control of my body. I pulled my hand away and allowed it to fall to my side. “What happened,” I continued when I felt the moment was right, “wasn’t your fault. The fact that you got to me so fast is probably what saved my life.”
“But you’re sick,” he said.
“I—” I stopped, at first unsure what he was speaking about. When I remembered my eye, however, and the fact that it was turning gold at its center, I sunk my teeth into my lower lip.
Xiomara, as if sensing my need for solitude, stepped into the armory and closed the door, leaving us to our own devices.
“I know something’s happening,” he said as we headed toward the wall. “Asha told me what Captain Henshaw said—about the psychosis after you’re first attacked and the sort of symptoms that can follow.”
“Which are?”
“Nightmares. Hallucinations. Visions. At least, that’s what some people call them. Oh—and the changing eye color.”
“What’s that about anyway?”
“Maybe it has something to do with the fact that we’re from here and They’re… well… not.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“Have you been feeling any different?”
“Other than a little tired and stir-crazy from being cooped up in the house?” I laughed. “Not particularly.”
“Good. Maybe your eye will just change color a bit and that’ll be all you’ll have to deal with.”
“Yeah.” I thought back to the dream in which the Coyotes danced and the Harvesters beamed Them into Their ships. “Maybe.”
Once we reached the wall, the pair of us mounted the platform and made our way to the side opposite where Xiomara normally stood guard. Jason was quick to pull back a chair and gesture me to sit down—and I, knowing I would get winded if I stood for too long, settled down without so much as a second thought. He adjusted his gun in his arms and peered out at the eastern horizon—at the houses we would be watching and the overgrown lawns that would begin to die once the first big freeze hit.
Anything could be hiding in those tall grasses. Cats, dogs… Coyotes.
I shivered as I considered the coming night and only turned my head when I heard footsteps approaching.
“Henshaw’s coming,” Xiomara started. “Said not to worry about arming up tonight on account of your arm.”
“We need every able-bodied man and woman we can get on the walls,” Captain Henshaw continued as he approached Xiomara’s side. “You feeling okay, Berrios?”
“Better than before, sir.”
“Good. Something tells me tonight’s going to be interesting.”
For what reason, though? Did he know something the rest of us didn’t?
I shook my head, not wanting to dwell on the thoughts, and turned as the first of the eyes appeared in the distance.
Stay calm. Stay cool. Stay collected.
Never falter. Never fear. Never forget.
I tightened my good hand into a fist until my knuckles popped, and I sighed as the tension left my fingertips.
The sun fell, the moon took its place. The Coyotes drew forward, and with Them came the sounds of hyena laughter. No sooner had the last traces of light faded that I knew something was wrong.
It was when They started to approach the walls.
Guns were armed, targets were sighted, bullets readied to be fired at a moment’s notice.
I took note of one Coyote—whose eyes seemed to be set on me, though it could not possibly see me—and faltered.
My heart stopped beating. My breath ceased to flow. A vision of a gray world with monolithic structures upon grand hills entered my mind.
The next moment, the firing started—one after another after another.
Their wicked laughter was hellish in comparison to the gunfire.
No.
It couldn’t be happening.
Why were They coming? Especially with all the bullets?
At least ten fell instantly—three more shortly thereafter. The air filled with smoke and the smell of gunpowder as the last of the bullets clattered to the ground.
The streets held nothing but Coyote corpses.
I could only imagine what our mother—who was surely lying awake in our bedroom—thought of all the commotion. In all my life, there’d never been so many shots fired on one night.
And it was all because of…
“Me,” I whispered.
Jason turned at the sound of my voice, as did four others—my sister and Captain Henshaw included.
“They were looking right at you,” my sister whispered, drawing close. “Like They knew you were there.”
“Even though you didn’t say a word,” Jason said.
“Quiet,” Henshaw breathed. “There might be more.”
“It’s not like They haven’t already heard us,” another man further down the line said. “We probably woke the dead with all the noise we made.”
“Ana Mia,” the captain said. “A word.”
I rose and, with humility I felt necessary given all that had happened, followed him down the platform and the road leading up to it.
When we were a considerable distance from the wall—in a place we wouldn’t be heard even if our voices rose—he stopped, turned, and pinned me with steel-hard eyes. “You were lying when you said nothing was happening, weren’t you?”
I nodded, unable to refute it once our safety had potentially been jeopardized. “Yes sir,” I said, swallowing. “I was.”
“Tell me everything that’s happened.”
