“I tried to talk to her and she looked at me. I think she can recognize me. That’s got to be a good sign, right?”
“It’s likely that she only responded to the sound, Aaron.”
“Still, she didn’t try to attack me. Why wouldn’t she do that if she didn’t know who I am?”
This is painful.
“We fed her before you got here. While she’s full, her reactions are slow. Her body is…”
Her body is barely alive, and the energy required to digest the food makes her appear more docile, but that's only because her energy is going into something else. If she had the chance, she would bite you in an instant.
“…She reacts with violence only when she’s hungry.”
The man nods slowly, letting out a sigh. He leaves, finally.
“Poor guy,” Tom comments, sitting on a plastic chair. “I can’t imagine having to face this every day.”
I have no answer for him.
My time is better spent on isolating the weakened virus strain to test it in the rat we just caught. My work bores Tom a little—I know because he rolls his chair around the room every few minutes. I'm glad for the company; I feel safe when he's here, but concentrating becomes hard when keeps trying to break the silence.
“Have you ever done this before?”
“No, I haven't, but Pasteur didn't even have a medical degree when he made the rabies' vaccine, so I think I can manage.” I stop, noting the harshness in my voice. I try to make it up by giving him a task and an excuse to leave the room. “Sorry, I didn't mean to sound like that. I need coffee, I guess.”
He gets up from the chair, giving me a salute. “Private Moretti reporting for coffee duty, at your service.”
“Thanks.” I laugh. “Black, no sugar, please.”
After he leaves, I stop working and face the girl on the table. Her wrists are tied with plastic cuffs now, after she almost scratched Tom yesterday morning. She's hurt, skin raw from all the shuffling. One month ago I would be the first one to demand we let her go and treat her wound. To proclaim this conditions barbaric and illegal. Today, I only let myself theorize why her skin hasn't rotted yet.
I wonder if I would be so uncaring if she were the niece I never got to know. My sister and I stopped talking altogether when I left our hometown to attend medical school. We didn't leave things in a good place, which was fine by me. After years of her petty thievery to buy drugs, I spent all our money to get her in rehab. Of course she ran away with the money instead. That was when I decided to wash my hands of her forever. That was almost fifteen years ago. Last I heard, she had placed a baby for adoption, changed her name to Bunny and started working in an autoshop. Had she survived the bombings? Was she now an infected, hungry for fresh meat?
Why am I even thinking about her? I managed to do just fine without even remembering she existed all these years. Easier to forget, than to admit I never could fix her, much less save her from herself. Perhaps I can blame her for my stubbornness on lost causes.
Anyway, that’s in the past. The sick bay doors open again.
“Here.” Tom offers me a cup of warm coffee. “You're lucky you don't like sugar. We are out. Probably forever out.”
“Thank you.”
We share our cups in silence. Thinking about Theresa brought to surface things I’d rather not focus on.
“Did you talk to Tigh at all?” I ask him, after finishing my drink. “I haven't seen him.”
The way Tom avoids my eyes says it all.
I sigh. “Is he sleeping at least?”
“I think so. But he’s back to staying inside his office all day.”
I bite my lip, feeling my chest tighten with guilt. “He must hate me. Probably thinks I’m the bane of his existence. The crazy meddling doctor.”
“Are you kidding? He likes you. If he didn't, he would've never let you inside with that girl.”
“I kinda blackmailed him into doing it.”
Tom laughs. “What? No way. The Sarge? He would punch a blackmailer in the face before giving in to anyone. He's a tough son of…” He trails off, with a hand on the back of his neck.
I chuckle. “You can swear, Tom. I'm fine with it.”
He gives me small, embarrassed smile that I find adorable. “Well, he's tough. He served in the Pan-African War, you know? Saw sh… Saw things people can't even begin to imagine. If he didn't like you, trust me, you would know.”
“I think I know already. He pointed a gun at my face.”
“That’s nothing. A guy in the base told me he once grabbed a man by the collar, called him a sociopath and threw him over to the other side of a bar. Gave the guy plenty of scars and weeks stuck in a hospital bed. He made sure everyone, and I mean everyone, knew he hated the guy. He went up to high command and got the bastard tossed out of the Army. That’s him hating someone.”
“So, what you are saying is that as long he doesn't throw me around the room, he doesn't hate me?” I ask, with a raised eyebrow.
“Well, not exactly, but you get the picture.”
“I’ll take what I can, I guess. But what about the others?”
“Well… They don’t like the girl being in here. Especially Castro and Matthews, after what they went through.”
I open my mouth to argue, but it's not really something I can disagree with. They have every right not to like it.
“Hey, I don't agree with them. This is the right thing to do. Even Jones would think so.”
His words do help me a little, but not much. Jones would prefer to be still alive, I’m sure. I go back to my formula, mixing it and filling a syringe with it.
“Can you help me with this?” I say, pointing to the cage.
Tom opens it and holds the rat with his gloved hands. The animal squeals as I press the syringe into its back. The girl on the table thrashes, aroused by the sound. In order to test the vaccine, I give him a shot of the strong strain of the virus, using the little girl's saliva.
“So what happens now?”
“We wait.”
We stare at the cage, and my hearts beats fast. From the corner of my eye, I see Tom holding the cross around his neck. We don't have to wait long: after almost an hour the rat's fur falls and the skin below reveals itself to be yellow with small dark lumps. The animal runs around the cage in a frenzy, squeaking madly. One minute later he stops moving. I place my hand, protected by a plastic glove, inside the cage and check the rat's heart rate.
“Did it work?”
I shake my head. “No, he’s dead.”
“So, we made it worse?”
The fact that he said, “we” makes me feel so grateful my eyes water a little. Sadly, I know very well this is my own failure.
“Yes. We made it worse. Or, maybe the rat’s body just can't withstand the virus as well as humans. Or, maybe this won't work at all because this is a human specific disease, and I'm in the dark here, with no support, no peer review, no virology expert, no lab equipment.” I close the cage, tear off my gloves and toss them in a nearby trashcan. My lungs hurt for air. “Maybe this is a terrible mistake and I put all of us at risk for my selfish reasons. Maybe I should just learn to accept that… I can't fix this.”
“Let's take a break. How about that?”
His hand on my shoulder feels heavy and awkward. I can't believe myself. What is the matter with me today? I place both hands on my face, elbows on the counter.
“I'm sorry. I'm going crazy.”
“It's okay. You are under a lot of pressure. We all are. But things will get better.”
I shake my head, face still hidden behind my fingers. “No, they won't, Tom. Not soon enough. Who am I kidding? We don't even know if there will be people left by the time I do something right. Even if I do manage to create a vaccine, there’s no one to mass produce and distribute it.”
“The Army will help us.”
I turn to him, confused. “What Army? There is no Army anymore.”
“They weren't defeated, Doc. They retreated. And
that implies they had a plan.”
“A plan that involves bombing everything?”
He looks at the floor, letting out a sigh, before answering. “Yes. I know it sounds horrible, but in war you have to make sacrifices.”
“So you are saying that the Army is hiding somewhere safe, waiting for something, instead of saving lives?”
“Maybe.”
Oh. This is new.
If Tom knows something more, it meant Tigh had contact with the military the first weeks we stayed inside and was hiding it from me. I don't know what to make of this. I chose to interpret this piece of news as good, instead of letting bitterness against the Army cloud my opinion.
“Tom, are you saying that if I had the vaccine, they would be able to distribute it? To the whole country?”
“I don't know, Doc. I'm just the brawn, not the brain. But I guess so.”
I would kiss him and have no regrets after. There is a light at the end of this long and horrible tunnel, a way to fix this mess and return things to normal. I just need to keep going, and everything will be worth it. The lies, the risks, Victoria and her parent’s suffering.
“We need more rats,” I say to him, getting up from my chair. “No. Wait. Not just rats, they are too small. I need rabbits too. Can you hunt?”
“I can try… After all, I'm good at catching rats. How hard can it be to catch a fuzzy bunny? You should come with me. Get some fresh air.”
The idea of spending the day out in the sun with him tempts me, but I can't leave the girl alone or with her parents for too long. She’s my responsibility.
“Maybe I will.” My smile is wide as I get up. “Tom. Thank you.”
“You keep thanking me, but I'm not doing anything, really.”
“You are. You are keeping me sane. And you did save me quite a lot, so I think that deserves a few thank yous, right?”
His smile is soft. “Just doing my job, Doc.”
“Maria.”
He steps closer, offering his hand. “Okay, Maria. Nice to meet you.”
We shake hands and stare at each other. Tom brown eyes make my heart beat faster. I'm holding my breath. For what? A kiss?
This might be just the adrenaline speaking, just loneliness and desperate circumstances. We have nothing in common, nothing normal to talk about it, yet he is the only person I feel safe around and trust with my life. I don't know what he sees in me, why he keeps helping me, but I'm happy for his company.
So, why not kiss him? What terrible thing would happen if I did that? He's cute. He likes me. He distracts me from my constant failures. So why am I hesitating?
The sick bay doors open, and we move away from each other. Anna and Aaron come inside, asking me questions about their daughter’s well being. I try my hardest to sound truthful, but Tom's eyes distract me. I'm feeling hot, and for once it has nothing to do with the lack of air conditioning.
I busy myself by taking new samples of saliva, skin and blood from the little girl to make new weakened strains of the virus. The plan is to try again and again, until it works. I won't doubt myself again—nothing good would come of it.
Both parents watch my actions closely, and their judgmental eyes linger on my mind. As time passes, they grow more desperate to see any sign of their daughter’s improvement, and with the lack of results comes the blame and finger pointing.
Her mother, Anna, seems particularly anxious to antagonize me at every opportunity. I dealt with those types of family members before; it's not their fault. They think pointing out mistakes and questioning the medical staff's abilities will make the doctors determined to prove them wrong by working harder. All to think they are in control of the situation. Unfortunately, it never works, and they simply feel worse as time goes by.
“Which field did you say you studied?” she asks me, after I insist they don’t touch the patient. “Do you even know what you are doing? Maybe if you let me touch my daughter she would recognize me.”
“I worked for ten years in an ER, Anna. I know what I'm doing, please trust me. Her delusions won't stop because you are near her. She needs a vaccine and nothing else will help.”
“So you are doing nothing in here for days? Did you even give her antibiotics? What kind of—” Anna stops talking, eyes locked on the girl's wrists. Her face is white with shock.
I wince, knowing what comes next.
“Why she's like this? Free her. She's suffering! Is she a monster to you? What are you doing with her? Are you torturing her?”
“We had to restrain her after she almost hurt Tom. We can't risk the disease spreading—”
“She’s just a little girl! You are hurting her. You promised us you would fix this, not make it worse!”
Tom steps in, placing himself between us. “Hey, the Doc means well. You need to give her time. She’s doing her best.”
“No, she’s not.” Anna turns to me with a pointed finger. “You spend more time looking at a microscope then watching my daughter. You won't even clean her wounds. What kind of doctor won't even touch her patient?”
“Direct contact with her skin—”
“Liar.” She spits at me. “You are just too afraid. Let me do it then!”
She tries to get past Tom, but he extends his arm to stop her. “Please calm down, or you will have to leave.”
As soon he said the last part, I knew he made a mistake.
“Leave? You can't tell me to leave.” Anna’s voice drips with anger and venom.
My eyes go to Aaron, asking silently for his help. The father only stares at the girl squirming on the bed.
The doors open again, and Castro marches inside with Matthews, guns already raised. “What's going on here?”
I raise my hands, and walk to them. “It's okay. Everything is fine. Anna is just tired and worried.”
My attempt at cooling tempers down has no effect. Anna tries to get past me, to reach her daughter, but Tom grabs her by the arm. “You need to leave, ma'am.”
“Don't touch me.”
I’m thinking of a way to stop this from getting worse, when Aaron snaps back to reality. “You… You are not really curing her. You are using her. I… You don't even give her water. You just… You act like she's just an animal.”
“Aaron, please. That's not true.”
The man takes something out of his pocket. A gun. How did he get a gun? The supermarket, we gave him one. My eyes widen, my heart racing. He’s pointing the thing at me.
“I want to take her with me. Let her go. We are leaving.”
Castro raises his rifle at the father's direction. “Drop it. Or I shoot.”
Aaron doesn't listen, arms trembling. I take a few steps to reach him and lift my arms to show I mean him no harm. “There is nowhere else to go, Aaron. I'm trying to make a vaccine to help everyone and stop this disease. Please. Don't do anything rash.”
“Vaccines just prevent the disease, they don't cure anyone. I'm not stupid. You've been lying to us since the day we got here.”
My hesitation is all the confirmation he needs.
“Move away from my daughter,” he says then points his gun to Tom. “And you, take your hands off my wife.”
Tom looks at me for guidance. I nod to him; we can’t let things get even worse. “Aaron, please, stop this before someone gets hurt.”
“Stop talking!” His yell gives me chills. “Stop and let us go.”
I try to make eye contact with Castro, but a shot hitting the floor next to my left foot freezes me whole.
“The next one will go in the doctor’s chest. Let them go. Now.”
Tom takes his hands off Anna, and she runs to her daughter. All the yelling and commotion made the little girl agitated beyond anything I have seen yet. She screams, laughs, biting air.
Anna starts to untie the plastic handcuffs. “It’s okay, honey. Mommy’s here. We are leaving this horrible place. Nobody is going to hurt you anymore.”
Everything happens so quickly; I barely open my mouth befor
e it’s over. Anna screams and yanks her hand away. A shot rings. Castro hits Aaron with the back of his gun, tackling him to the floor. Tom grabs Anna by the hip, forcing her away from the child.
My left side burns with pain when I move next to the bed, to make sure the girl is still tied. My hands fumble with the cuffs. My fingers are red and slippery. I stare at the girl’s disfigured face; black teeth exposed in a distorted smile.
Why do I feel dizzy?
“Doc,” I hear Tom’s faraway voice, while Anna screams, trying to get out of his grasp. “Doc, you’re bleeding.”
I blink, gazing at my body below. There’s a wound on my left side, gushing blood. I hear skin being ripped apart.
“She’s free. Doc, move away!”
Her small hand reaches for me, fingers bloated with lumps. I take a step back. Someone pushes me away, and I hit the cold floor, vision blurring.
I hear a muffled scream and a metallic pop.
“No, don’t shoot her. Don’t shoot. I need her alive. I need…”
I’m not even sure I’m actually speaking. I must… I need to stop the bleeding. And focus. I get up, hand around the gunshot on my side. It feels like someone poked me in the back with a hot iron, so…So that means the bullet went through. Good. That’s a good sign. I stumble toward the counter, grab a towel and press it against the gushing hole. With my free hand, I clean my forehead of sweat, to clear my vision.
Another pop. Another scream. What’s going on?
“Stop. Just stop. I need to focus.”
I force myself to turn around, supporting my body against the counter. The scene I find confuses me.
Tom is the only one left standing, blood on his uniform. Anna’s body has fallen over her daughter. Castro, Matthews and Aaron lay spread on the floor, unconscious or worse.
“W-What happened?” Pain runs over my body, making me wince and close my eyes to withstand the agony.
“I had to. I had to. He killed Castro. He shot you.”
“Tom, what are you talking about?”
He doesn’t answer me. I carry myself to the three bodies, biting my lip. I feel Castro neck’s pulse with a trembling hand. Nothing. Matthews isn’t breathing either. I’m dizzy again, and Aaron is nothing but a big blur to me, but I manage to find his hand. No pulse either. Trails of red mark the floor around them. The sick bay’s walls are contaminated with blood.
Those Who Remain Page 20
