by J. Andersen
Around me, only the sound of fingers against keyboards breaks the air, and words like, “fascinating,” and “unbelievable” hit my ears. They’re right. It is unbelievable. Unbelievable that I’m forced to watch this. Unbelievable that no one but me seems to care about the life they’re destroying. I’m numb to the professor’s lecture as he describes what’s happening, barely looking at the child in front of him. He can say it from memory. My classmates furiously type their observations while my compact sits open on my lap, empty. My arms barely holding on to the computer screen on my lap. Frozen. Like the rest of me.
All eyes are pasted to the capsule in front of us. All, but mine. And Professor Limbert’s. He’s still flipping through papers as he waits out the time it takes to complete the process. I’m watching him. He must sense this because his gaze meets mine. I can hardly see him through the watery glaze in my vision.
It’s only when I turn back to the capsule after it’s all over that I allow myself to wipe away the tear hanging on the edge of my eyelid.
It’s over. Finished.
She’s dead.
The professor knows this, too, and moves to continue his lecture. Setting his paperwork down, he straightens his back and takes a deep breath, lifting the child from the case in front of us. With care, he wipes the fluid from her body and rolls her from one of his hands to the other, checking for any signs of life. There’s a heaviness in the surrounding air. No one speaks. Each face in the room reveals something different. Interest. Fascination. Indifference. But mine reveals the horror, which I can’t erase from my mind.
The bile rises in the back of my throat, and I swallow to keep it down.
Professor Limbert continues. “The last part of the procedure is to place the body into the hazardous waste bins that will be brought to the incinerator.” As he says this, he wraps the child in the blue cloth that covered the growth capsule, tucking it around like a cocoon, and then reaches for a small bag labeled hazardous waste. Cradling it in his arms, he moves to the cabinet and pulls open the trash can. Placing the bundle inside, he closes it.
I’m revolted by the sound of the lid locking on tight. Garbage. We just threw out a life like leftovers on my dinner plate.
I can’t stand it any longer. I don’t care if it’s rude or irresponsible, I have to leave. Standing, my chair scrapes against the floor making a horrific screech. Much like the sound of the silent scream aching to tear out of my throat.
I don’t answer Taryn when she asks what I’m doing, nor do I pay any attention to the room full of stares that are boring holes into my back. And I don’t look to see if Professor Limbert is upset at my leaving. It doesn’t matter. I’m gone.
***
I open the front door of The Institute to see Micah leaning against the steps. Not stopping, I rush past him, but he ignores me when I brush my hand through the air, gesturing for him to leave me alone and follows me down the sidewalk anyway.
“You okay?” His fists press into the pockets of his jacket, stretching the material taut. It digs into his neck, leaving a striped mark from the fabric on his skin.
I wrap my arms around myself, but it does nothing to stop the shaking that’s taken over my body. I can’t hold myself together. Pointing toward the building, I ask, “Is that why you weren’t in class today?”
He doesn’t speak, and I know my suspicions are true. “Have you done a saline disposal before?” I prod. “Is that why you skipped the class?”
He nods, slipping his coat from his shoulders and places it around mine. “Last year was my first one as the technician in the room. I swore I’d do anything I could to not have to witness that again, so when Professor Donovan had some paperwork to finish, I jumped at the chance, and they scheduled the new tech in my place.”
“You could have warned me.” My hand runs over the cement barrier, cold and hard. I grasp it like it’s the only thing that’s real because, at that moment, it is. Walking does nothing to steady my trembling legs though I’m determined to keep moving. I have to get as far from that lab as I can.
“Sorry.”
“Did you think that was something I had to experience to make me a better person or something?” His face is sad, and I know he wants to erase what I’ve seen because he’s seen it, too. And I can tell by the look in his eye that he’s seen much more. But for some reason, he had to let me see it. Without warning me beforehand. He had to let me see for myself what The Institute is capable of. Until now, I wouldn’t have fully understood.
“Something like that.”
My feet stop moving, and my body crumples to the ground. But before I hit the snow-covered earth, Micah’s arms wrap around me, and he pulls me into an alley in between two buildings. Once in his arms, I collapse. My body shivers with sobs, and if it weren’t for his arms, I’d curl into a ball on the cold asphalt and wait for death to come.
“They killed it, Micah. And I watched.”
“I know.”
“I watched that little baby die. And I didn’t do anything about it. I couldn’t.”
“I know. I’m so sorry, Kate. I’m so sorry.”
I cry until I can barely breathe. But thankfully, Micah picks me up and puts me back together. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go somewhere private.”
THIRTY
DR. FRANKENSTEIN … ALMOST
OPENING THE DOOR TO Micah’s home, I remember I’ve only been here once before. It seems a bit odd, considering our relationship, that we haven’t spent more time here. After living in a state run facility until he was sixteen, he was given back the house his parents had before they died in the crash. Well, not his parents. How strange it must have been for him to take over a home that wasn’t his. To step into someone else’s life. Despite the strangeness of the situation, there’s a peace about this place, and somehow, just stepping through the doorway, I know Micah’s going to make things better.
“Here,” he says leading me to the living room. “Sit down. I’ll get you something to eat.”
I don’t protest, even though I’m not sure if I’ll be able to keep anything down.
The living room is sparse. A few pieces of matching furniture—quite comfortable, I might add—fill the space, but the walls are nearly bare save for a few photographs leaning against the mantle. No frames, no tacks. Straining to see from my seat, I immediately recognize the subject.
Me.
The green scarf Gran crocheted is wrapped around my neck, and I’m standing in what looks like a field of snow. It was taken in the park. I’m staring into the distance with a look of wonderment on my face. I’m surprised at how nice the picture is. Normally, I avoid having my picture taken, but this one makes me look … pretty.
In minutes, Micah returns with a homemade turkey sandwich. He explains when he sees the confused look on my face.
“I keep the leftovers in a small cooler. There’s no need to waste anything I don’t eat one day when I might eat it the next. With as many advances as The Institute has made, waste management is not one of them.”
This doesn’t make any sense to me. When Mom makes dinner, she unwraps the prepackaged meals designed specifically for our individual body types.
Micah clarifies further. “Remember, Kate, I’m not from around here.” His soft smile eases my tension. “We don’t get meals delivered. We have to make our own.”
Taking the plate from his outstretched hand, I grab the sandwich and take a bite. Despite my lack of appetite, it tastes amazing.
“Sorry about the house,” he says as he sits next to me. “Scratch that, I’m not going to be one of those people who apologizes for my house. You’ve seen the worst and best of me. There’s no need to apologize.”
Licking my finger, I manage a smile. “You’re right. Besides, you have a nice place.”
His face lights up when he laughs. “Well, it’s not really home if you know
what I mean. I consider it my temporary lodging.”
For a moment, I wonder if he’s referring to the fact that this house belongs to the strangers whose son he replaced, but then I realize he’s talking about the Hidden City. Our above ground society is foreign to him. No matter how long he’s lived here, his heart is in another place. “Like a hotel, only without the room service.”
“Something like that,” he snickers.
The sandwich calms my nervous stomach, and when I finish, I lean back on his couch and pull a pillow in front of me. “So what was it like? When you had to see that kind of disposal?”
Micah’s cheekbones drop, and a sharp crease between his eyes appears. I mentally kick myself. We were having a nice time; he’d finally gotten my mind off what I’d seen earlier in class, and I pull us right back there. Why would I ask such a stupid question?
For a second, his lips stiffen, and his hands ball into fists, but he soon relaxes and leans back next to me. Staring off at the ceiling, he relates that day to me.
“I’m sure it was much like what you saw today,” he begins. “The professor doesn’t do any of the actual procedure. He leaves that up to the techs. It was my first week as a graduated tech. I’d seen the procedure a few times before, each more sickening than the last, but that day, I wasn’t expecting to actually have to do the procedure myself.” He sighs. “I’m not sure why. I should have known. Having seen it happen, I knew the techs did the duty. But for some reason, I thought I had more time to prepare.”
Micah’s hands must be sweating because he continues to rub them up and down his thighs, ever so slowly, eliminating every crease in his jeans. “After the procedure was done, I excused myself and spent the next hour in the bathroom throwing up. I thought I’d never get over that sight. Knowing that child’s life was in my hands, and I took it away. A perfectly good life, gone because of me. It didn’t matter to me that it was smaller than the rest or had some sort of a disease; it was still a living human being. To this day, I have nightmares.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” My hand covers his.
“Kate, I wish that were true. I wish I could say I never had to do it again. I avoid it as much as possible, yes, but there are some days I can’t steer clear of it. Those days bring back every detail of the first, and my dreams turn to nightmares. It’s worse every time around, and it never goes away.” His hand combs through his black hair, pushing it back from his face. “That first day, however, changed my life.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was sent here by the officials of the Hidden City to glean as much information as possible from The Institute by just living a normal life and listening to what people might say. After that day, I went to the leaders and told them I had to do more. Just waiting around for information to fall into my lap was maddening. I needed something more tangible. So they gave me a more advanced assignment. Something I could wrap my hands around.”
I raise my eyebrows at him, and I know he’s about to reveal something big.
“Let me show you something.” Standing, he reaches out his hand and pulls me off the couch.
My stomach flips, and the knot in the pit of my gut tells me that whatever he’s going to show me is going to change my life forever. Weeks ago, it would have set off my freak-o-meter to be headed down a rickety set of steps into his basement, but after all we’ve been through together, this just seems normal.
From the light of the room above us that sends a stream of light through the cracked door and down the steps, I see a weight set and old couch, now musty smelling after spending months in the damp recesses of the basement. I try not to think of the mold spores filling my lungs. In the middle of the floor is a rug covering the poured cement. It must be to make this place like a family room or something, not that anyone would spend much time here, but hey, you never know. Maybe the rug was meant to make it look a little comfortable, but when Micah pulls it back, I see its real purpose.
To hide a door.
Micah moves the slab covering and turns to me. “Wanna see my secret lab?”
“What are you, a mad scientist?”
“I’m working on it.” He grins and winks at me. “You can be my assistant.” We step into the darkness. “But you’re much more attractive than Igor.”
“Igor?”
“Right,” he says, “I forget you haven’t heard some of those stories. Igor was the hunchbacked assistant to the mad scientist who used dead bodies to create new life.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Perhaps, but it makes for a great story as long as you get the evil laugh down pat.”
“Evil laugh?”
“Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ah!”
I’m practically rolling in laughter when he says, “I’ve been practicing.”
We descend another set of steps that lead deep into the earth beneath Micah’s home.
“How long did it take you to build this?” I ask. Because there’s no way an Institute-built home would allow plans for a secret lab underneath.
“The whole first year I lived here. It’s only been operational for a year now. Some of my contacts helped dig it out and got things ready.”
At the bottom of the steps, Micah flicks on a black light and the room glows with a purple haze. At the same time, my jaw drops open.
This room is identical to the lab at The Institute except for the dirt walls held up by beams made of two-by-fours. It’s complete with Petri dishes along one side and larger capsules connected to the ceiling in the middle. Tubes run along the rafters to a generator in the corner that’s hooked up to some sort of filtration system. But that’s not what has my attention.
As I scan the walls where the Petri dishes sit, I realize they’re not empty.
My eyes wide, I turn to Micah, who’s stepped back and let me examine at my own pace. I don’t even have to ask the question. He answers it as though he’s reading my mind.
“That night you caught me in the lab a few weeks ago—”
“Your keys.”
“Yeah, um, not my keys.”
My mind is drawn back to that night, and I can see him standing in front of me that night in the lab, slipping something in his pockets.
“You stole these from The Institute?”
He nods.
Now, I’m confused. “Why? What do you do to them here?”
“Kate, it’s not what I do to them here, it’s what they do to them there.”
“So these were all marked Unviable?”
“I can’t take them all,” he says, “they’d notice so many missing, especially with as many as they dispose of in these early stages, but when one or two disappear, they don’t care. Especially if they were labeled Unviable. I figure it actually makes their jobs easier. One or two less to dispose of. With my job as the lab assistant, I have access to the database. A quick change of a number in the system, and it’s pretty easy to take a few.”
“But Micah, what are you going to do with them?” I run my fingertips along the edge of the glass, looking at what seems like an empty dish. I know better. Its contents are microscopic at this point. But it’s not like it will remain that way for long. They’ll grow. Quickly. And as I look around, I see a few specimens that are bigger, older. Ready to be transferred into the next pod.
“I take them back to the Hidden City. We implant them in surrogates.”
“What?”
“We implant them into women who are willing to carry a life that’s not their own.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Yes, most likely,” he says, smiling again. All I can see are the whites of his eyes and his brilliant teeth glowing in the dim light. It does make him look like a mad scientist.
“You can do that? Implant them, I mean?”
“Yep.”
“And they survive?”
“Some of t
he time. It’s not an exact science. It’s an old one, actually. They used to do the procedure years ago before places like The Institute began their own breeding procedures and made women’s wombs obsolete.” He moves toward me and places one of the Petri dishes under a microscope. “If a woman couldn’t have children of her own, doctors would implant fertilized eggs inside her. To make sure one took, they’d often use many eggs. The problem was that doing this many times led to multiple births, which could cause complications for the mother and the babies.” He leans in, presses his eyes against the microscope, and examines the embryo under the scope.
“So why are you doing this?” I feel like I’m yelling. The hum of the generator is loud, and I have to raise my voice to speak over it. No wonder it’s in the basement. Scratch that. Beneath the basement. If it were any higher, the sound would alert someone.
Pulling his face from the microscope, he turns and leans against the counter, placing a hand on either side of his hips on the table. “Don’t you get it yet, Kate? Even after what you saw today? We do this to save the unborn.”
“Even when they’re deformed or diseased?”
“Even then. They’re still human, Kate. They still deserve a chance at life. And sometimes, when these people grow old, they’ll even tell you they wouldn’t have changed a thing about their lives. Not even their disabilities. They are just as viable as the rest of us.” He pauses. “Remember the woman in the Hidden City who was responsible for changing out the flowers?”
“Mmm hmm.”
“I told you she had a disorder called Down Syndrome.”
“Yeah.”
“She was one of the first successful implants in The Hidden City. Just think of what our village would be like if she weren’t allowed to live. Colorless.”
“What do you plan to do with the larger capsules?” I say, eyeing the other table across the room.
“I figure we won’t be able to get all these embryos implanted soon enough. It’s a delicate procedure transporting them to the Hidden City, much less implanting them. So I stole some of the capsules in case they need to be moved from the dishes. Stole is a harsh word. I borrowed them from the discarded pile and fixed them up. As long as we’re not caught, I can raise them here, and when they’re born, we can assign them to a couple in the Hidden City. An old-fashioned adoption.”
