The Haven

by Carol Lynch Williams

  I checked out the gazebo one last time, straining to see anything, but there wasn’t even a glimmer of light. A shiver ran from shoulder to shoulder. I went back to bed and slept.

  Do you have your suitcase?

  It’s there. By my nightstand.

  You won’t be gone long.

  I nod. Walk. It’s so far. The corridor is a dark hole. Cold as snow. I walk forever. The blinking light never gets closer.

  I’m on the bed. Someone cries out.

  The voice echoes. Comes into my mind again and again.

  We’ll get rid of the Disease. What we can, he says.

  Brightness stabs at my eyes. I feel it in the back of my head, it’s so sharp. The light turns red. Cuts across the yard.

  There’s the knife, slicing down my breastbone, opening me up, like chicken in the kitchen when I help cook.

  Hands reaching in pull out the blackness that fills me. I feel the dark being torn away. Feel the tendons separating from the bone. Blackness turns red as blood.

  They have my heart, dripping what looks like used car oil. Steam rises. I smell something awful.

  The red light flickers again. The male in black motions for me to come to the gazebo, but I cannot without my heart.

  They sew me up.

  But the bleeding will not stop.

  5

  “Abigail!”

  I woke myself, screaming. The cold of my dream followed me into waking. I felt like I had showered in icy water.

  I curled in on myself. “Help?” I whispered, testing the air around me. Hearing my own voice calmed me, and the ice in my skin thawed.

  “You’re okay, Shiloh. It’s just the dream again. You’re used to it.”

  But I’m not, even though I dream that same thing all the time.

  Our room was dark except for the faint light from the hallway. No one awoke from my crying out. All around me was the sound of steady breathing.

  I pulled the comforter to my chin, turned over, and burrowed my face into my pillow.

  “You’re okay. You’re okay,” I said. My nerves tried to get into my brain.

  I couldn’t lose control. A dream wasn’t like those Dining Hall doors opening. A dream was my brain releasing stress. That’s what Dr. King said once in assembly. I remembered it, word for word.

  “We’ve had a lot of Terminals complaining of nightmares.” Dr. King had raised his hands to us like dreams sat on his palms. “This is just your brain relieving the stress of the day. You have no reason to fear your dreams. They mean nothing.” He’d worn a dark blue suit that day. And a bow tie. “If they bother you, come to the Nurse’s Station for a change in your Tonic. If they continue, we’ll see you at the Infirmary.”

  That was the day I’d decided I’d never go to the Infirmary for help. Not with my worries or my dreams or my memory. I would keep to myself.

  “Easy,” I said now. “I’ll try for nothing. Hope to get my mind off Isaac. Not think of any Terminals.”

  The best thing I could do now would be:

  To not sleep at all.

  To have no more dreams.

  And to please forget that look on Isaac’s face.

  * * *

  A Mozart sonata woke me.

  At first I wasn’t even sure I could get my eyes open, I was that tired. That deep in sleep. My bedding was warm, and I was warm. The dream had fled and taken with it all the coldness of the night before.

  But oh! Isaac. Once again I recalled how his freckles looked so prominent on his all-the-sudden pale skin. I remembered Gideon shoving that chair. Had any other Teachers heard about what happened? Was Gideon learning all about Penitence and Reform at this moment?

  You have got to let this go, I thought. Everyone else forgets. You do it, too. Make yourself forget.

  “All true stories end in the Terminal’s death,” I said. Ernest Hemingway said those words after he wrote For Whom the Bell Tolls, where not one Terminal comes to any good at all.

  What I needed to do was think of life. All around me were the sounds of morning. No one else seemed concerned. I threw back the blanket, uncovering my head.

  Mary hummed—something she was learning in Band, I bet. Bright snow-light filled the room. Elizabeth sat cross-legged on her bed, a thick book in her lap. She held her long black hair back with one hand.

  “Better get up,” she said. “You’re going to be late. And you know how that can ruin a day. It’s almost impossible to catch up if you start out late.” She turned a page.

  Poor Elizabeth, I thought. So anal. She’s the smartest Terminal in our hall, though.

  “Yeah, Shiloh.” Mary went to her dresser. “You know you aren’t supposed to be late for breakfast. Plus Abigail wants you to hurry. She’s saving you a spot at the table.” Mary dug through her drawer, grabbed a pair of blue jeans, then left for the bathroom. Before her surgery she always dressed with Abigail and Elizabeth and me. No one ever says this now, above all not Mary, but I think she’s self-conscious because of the amputations.

  I stretched, lifting my arms high, feeling a pull in my scar.

  Outside, the world seemed as dazzling as the sun reflecting in a mirror. Light poured into the room, puddling on the floor, making the pale carpet seem warm. I stretched again, pointing my toes, and said, “I won’t be late. Promise.”

  “Okay, then,” Elizabeth said.

  What would it be like to wake up and not worry about who might leave Haven Hospital & Halls?

  To not have a scar with concerns of more to come?

  To not have the dreams?

  To only worry about being late?

  “Shiloh.” Elizabeth stood at the foot of my bed, her book tucked under her arm. I sat up. “You have to go.” She regarded me with such intensity that at first I thought maybe she knew my thoughts.

  Her standing there like that reminded me of something. What?

  The figure.

  The bouncing light.

  I gripped my blanket. The need to tell boiled up inside. I bit my tongue to keep my mouth shut. “I’m going.”

  “Great,” she said. “I worry that you’ll get behind.” She was ready, her hair done, her clothes neat and clean, a pink glow to her face. Her eyes looked too green.

  I threw back the covers and stepped to the window. The only new thing was this almost-spring snow. Nothing near the gazebo. Not even footprints.

  Had I imagined it all?

  I went back to the tasks at hand. Made my bed, then pulled out a creamy yellow shirt from my closet.

  There was no denying it.

  I saw what I saw. Even if I didn’t know what it had been, there was a light and a figure.

  Elizabeth chattered with Mary, who was dressed now and ready for the day.

  Had it been a Terminal last night? An animal?

  Or someone from the outside?

  Cool air swirled near my ankles.

  Couldn’t be. There was no way. How had they gotten onto the grounds? A huge concrete wall surrounds the institution. There’s only one way in, one way out. There’s a station where you have to show ID to gain access. Sure, there are visitors, VIPs that walk the grounds, sit in the office with Principal Harrison, or tour the buildings at the back of the property with Dr. King. They check out the kitchen with Miss Maria showing the way. But there are always chaperones. Teachers keep us away from the Visitors, and Security keeps outsiders away from us.

  But the Whole do get in here. They have scaled the walls. Once, long before I was sent here to live, someone drove a truck through the gates, demanding money by means of a physical threat. Dr. King told us.

  So intruders were a possibility.

  But a Terminal outside like that? In the cold? We just aren’t built for extreme temperatures.

  I couldn’t wait any longer. This was a mystery I couldn’t solve. I had to get ready for the day.

  * * *

  I know about the concrete wall because of Abigail.

  Last summer, she and I went exploring every time we
got the chance.

  Abigail said, “How far can we follow the wall? It’s got to end sometime.”

  “I’ve heard it goes on forever,” I had said. I shadowed my eyes at the barrier.

  That day had been bright. Hot. Flowers bloomed everywhere, both wild and in the greenhouse. They grew in flower beds, all gauzy with color. Dr. King surveyed the whole of Haven Hospital & Halls, hands on his hips. Classes are shorter in warm weather so we can spend time outside and even garden if we want. We’re encouraged to enjoy the good air, get the right amount of vitamin D.

  “Breathe healthy.” That’s a rule.

  So Abigail and I had walked. We went some distance, past the greenhouses, past the old nursery, past the huge building with glass block windows and the NO ADMITTANCE signs on every entrance.

  Way behind us was the murmur of Terminal voices. Four females sat on benches that circled a rose garden. One lifted her face to the sun.

  Abigail and I spoke about nothing. It felt like it took forever to reach the wall. I stood there looking at it, head tipped back, hand a visor again. Bees buzzed bushes of lavender, and a grasshopper sat camouflaged on the pampas grasses that were taller than me.

  “We’re here,” I had said.

  The memory of that day was bright as could be, squint-your-eyes bright.

  Abigail tromped along, head down, steps that sent resting butterflies fluttering to get away.

  I patted the wall. The block was warm under my hand, and rough, too. I could smell the scorch of the weeds. I almost forgot why we were outside, then remembered the reason we had set out. “What’s on the other side?”

  Abigail shrugged.

  The sun was comfortable on my shoulders. It shone in Abigail’s auburn hair. Did the sun brighten my hair like it did hers? My hair is golden. Did it have the same red colors? “A world without Terminals,” I said, and I had felt satisfied.

  “Let’s look over.” Abigail lowered her voice even though we were alone. “You want to boost me?”

  “Ummmm,” I said. The thought made me jittery. Made me want to leave. Go back closer to the school. Sure, we wondered what was over the wall, but I’d never thought to try and take a peek. The idea made my hands sweat. Made my nerves crawl. “We can’t do that. We’re not allowed.”

  “Who ever said?”

  I searched my memory. “No one.”

  Abigail gave me a nod of triumph.

  “But it has to be wrong.”

  She hesitated only a second like she carried on an argument with herself. “That’s why we should look.”

  Between us and that last group of Terminals was a large expanse of field. We’d waded through wildflowers and spots of colors. No one seemed to notice us.

  Abigail ran her hand over the creamy-colored stucco.

  She had a point. There are plenty of rules here—to keep us as healthy as a Terminal can be. The list went on and on. But no one had said, Do not climb the wall.

  Ever.

  “You help me,” Abigail said. The smell of summer filled the air. Flowers bobbed their rainbow heads.

  I let out a nervous sound. “Are you sure?”

  “You know it. There’s no one around, we’re as far away from the main buildings as we can get. This will be interesting. In fact—” Abigail got in my face. My stomach swirled. “—this is learning about our—” She paused. “—our environment.”

  Hmmm.

  “If you put it that way.”

  That day, I pushed Abigail as high as I could without touching her skin. But she hadn’t been quite strong enough to reach to the top of the wall. The Disease had taken part of her arm earlier and she was still recovering.

  Abigail grabbed for the top, but couldn’t hold on one-handed.

  “Let me down, Shiloh,” she said. She dropped to the ground. Her cheeks were pink. “Let me get you up there.”

  “Are you sure? I’m heavier than you. Can you do it?” By now I could almost imagine what was on the other side. Probably a mansion. Or a castle. Or maybe a table piled high with fine foods. My mouth watered. I was thirsty.

  “You have to see for both of us,” Abigail said, bending at the waist. “Climb up on my back.” She leaned against the wall, holding herself steady. I slipped off my shoes, my socks still on, and stepped onto her back, unsteady and nervous. My feet slid on her shirt and I could feel her ribs. I hugged the surface for balance.

  “Too short,” I said, the familiar feeling of disobedience spreading in my chest.

  Abigail moved under me, trying to keep her balance. “Get up on my shoulders,” she said, already winded.

  I looked at her. “I could hurt you.”

  “We can’t let all my therapy be for nothing.” She sounded just like Ms. Seabold, the physical therapist.

  “Terminals,” I said, mimicking Ms. Seabold, “I don’t spend my valuable time helping you increase your health for nothing. Exercise! Eat right! Use sunscreen!”

  “See?” Abigail said. “She wants us to look over.”

  I climbed to Abigail’s shoulders. The top of the wall was still too high. But if I reached up, and if she pushed and I scrambled …

  Abigail wiggled a bit.

  “Hold still,” I said, grunting.

  I pulled myself up, scratching my hands and then my belly. With a foot on Abigail’s shoulder, I pushed toward the ledge. With my other foot, I tried to get myself a little higher.

  I could see. There was a field of wildflowers, like the ones that grew here. A small stream caught the sunlight and threw it back, sparkling, into the air.

  Abigail, sounding like she had no oxygen left, said, “Hurry. What do you see?”

  “Flowers. Trees. There’s a fence with wires at the top. And something past that. Oh. A lot of people. Carrying signs, it looks like. Hard to see.”

  “What do the signs say?”

  “How would I know?” I said. “They’re too far away. And smaller than your thumb.” I struggled to hang on, to see anything past the fence. My toes scratched at the wall, trying to find a place to hold my weight.

  “Which thumb?” Abigail asked. “The one I have or the one I don’t have?”

  “Don’t be such a Terminal. There’s a lot of the Whole. And cars with flashing lights on top.” I thought for a second. “Police cars. I remember from Terminal Television when we had that intrusion.”

  “You two!”

  Abigail jolted, turning under my foot. I felt her struggle to remain beneath me but she fell away. I clawed at the thick top part of the wall. In slow motion, I slid down the stuccoed block.

  “What is going on here?” It was Ms. Iverson, I could tell by her voice. She was brand-new to the Haven Hospital & Halls.

  “Move, Abigail,” I said, my cheek against the wall, my fingers losing their grip. I heard her roll away and I slid the rest of the way to the ground.

  “Ow,” I said when I landed.

  “We were trying to see what’s on the other side,” Abigail said from flat on her back. Her ponytail lay like a rope out across the grass.

  The tips of my fingers were raw and I had even skinned my chin and one side of my face. My toes felt bruised.

  “The world is out there,” Ms. Iverson had said. She patted the wall, making the sound you get when you thump an unripe watermelon. “And this is to keep you two safe. Germs from over there might infect you.”

  “Right,” Abigail said. She stood, brushed off her shirt and pants, looked at me under half-closed eyelids.

  My fingertips stung. I put my shoes back on. Ms. Iverson sent me to the Infirmary, where Nurse fussed over my scraped skin, gave me an extra dose of Tonic, and cautioned me to keep as healthy as possible.

  Now, thinking back, I wondered if Abigail remembered that afternoon, too? We spoke of it only once after, wondering at the sign-carrying people, and then not at all because … she forgot.

  “Pleasant thoughts?” Elizabeth asked now, pulling me back to this morning.

  I nodded and closed my memories aw
ay, saving them for later.

  “Yes,” I said, making the word shorter than it was, and went into my morning shower.

  6

  In the bathroom, several females stood in front of mirrors, brushing their teeth. A couple of showers ran. So I wouldn’t be the only one late.

  Abigail and I were called into Principal Harrison’s office after the wall incident.

  He looked huge up close. I wanted to squint or cover my eyes. I kept thinking, He’s our pal. A principal is our pal.

  Trouble happens when people get close, Principal Harrison had said that day from behind his desk.

  “You’re crossing boundaries we consider safe here at Haven Hospital and Halls.” He did that mouth movement—showing all his teeth, his lips curling up up up—then tapped his ballpoint pen on the cherry desk.

  I had nodded, trying not to let the look on his face make me uncomfortable, but Abigail sat without moving, like she waited for something.

  “As Terminals,” Principal Harrison said, “we need to keep you varied as far as acquaintances go. Terminals don’t have time to waste, do you?”

  I shook my head.

  Abigail sat there.

  “So here it is: If you are not obedient—” Principal Harrison tapped on the desk again, his face that grotesque contortion. “—we take matters into our own hands. I’ve warned you.”

  Something cool slid over my skin.

  He looked at both Abigail and me. I wasn’t sure what to do, but Abigail said, “What are you saying, Principal Harrison?”

  This principal was our friend.

  He set the pen aside and clasped his hands. He leaned closer to us. “We’ll send one of you away. Get rid of you.” He paused. “Do you want that?”

  I shook my head no. My hands trembled.

  The principal is your pal. Your pal. Pal.

  Principal Harrison cleared his throat.

  I said, “I’ll do better.”

  “That’s what I told them,” Principal Harrison said, “the counselors, your Teachers, Dr. King.” He put his hands on his chest like our being here caused him pain. “You’re Terminals.” He was quiet then. Like that was all the answer we needed, and I guess it was. “We’ll be increasing your Tonic. You may experience intensified dizziness and diarrhea for the first few days. Be consistent with the medicine and those side effects will ease.”