The Haven

by Carol Lynch Williams

  Report these and any other worries to school officials.

  We must keep all Terminals, and you, safe from the outside world.

  13

  “Abigail?” I said into the dark room. “Abigail?”

  There was no answer. So she slept fine if she stayed up late enough, even without the Tonic.

  The female in the commercial. Her voice in my dreams. She’d had me made for her, right? For her daughter?

  I thought of Claudia. All that blond hair. Her blue eyes. Skin clear as porcelain. Used-up pageant girl.

  If I had been a little older, I would have been in Claudia’s class. I might have shared a room with her. I might have known her better.

  All these Terminals. All of us waiting to be harvested. Like the greenhouse vegetables here. Waiting to be used. To save someone else’s life by giving our own.

  It’s not true.

  But I had seen it myself.

  I pulled the covers over my head.

  No more dreams. I didn’t want to feel uneasy. Didn’t want to be here anymore.

  But what could I do? I remembered Abigail crying. Not just the sounds a Terminal makes when they’re hurt, but that water on her face.

  Fight.

  I’d rather fight.

  I’d rather get away.

  Save the Terminals, like Gideon said. Like Abigail and Daniel said.

  Save myself.

  Have a bit of the promise.

  There were no promises here except that our lives would end.

  I rolled over. It was still dark outside.

  Right before I fell asleep, I remembered Gideon saying he wanted me to go with them, too.

  I tried to make my face smile at the memory, but it just wouldn’t.

  * * *

  It wasn’t so easy to not drink the Tonic. Even though no one looked to see if we did. They trusted we would. And we did. I mean, we always had. I always had. Why check on something that is so secure already?

  We were, all of us, creatures of habit.

  Trained.

  Still I felt I must drink that Tonic. Go to bed at night. Down the Tonic. Get up in the morning, drink the Tonic. Take in a breath, let it out. Stand when you are called from lunch. Walk down the hall with the others. Sleep when Brahms begins. Awake with Mozart. Give your arm. Give your lung. Give something that might keep you alive.

  The next morning, I reached for that little cup sitting on my nightstand. Not even sitting up all the way, I readied to swallow the drink. My body told me to. My hand reached out on its own.

  Wait!

  I swung my legs over the side of the bed. Everyone got ready. Morning called. Time to begin the day.

  I will be free. Will fight to be free.

  My hand shook as I set the cup aside. Abigail raised her cup to me then turned her back. When she looked at me again, I saw a bit of the red juice on her lips, the color of Amy Steed’s dress.

  Fine—I could do it, too. I tossed the drink in my mouth, then hurried to the bathroom. The insides of my cheeks stung.

  Go, go, go.

  I pushed through into the bathroom, walked into a stall, locked the door behind me, and spit everything in the toilet, washing the bright red liquid away with a flush.

  A few sips of that drink. A couple of ounces? Who would think it could control me?

  When I stood, my head banged. A headache. A splitter of a headache. Even my ears hurt.

  “You okay, Shiloh?” Abigail. I saw her feet on the tiles outside where I crouched.

  “My head hurts,” I said. I opened the door, went to the sink, splashed water on my face. The overhead light stabbed at my eyes. The pain under my skull was so intense, it pounded through my skin.

  “Listen,” Abigail said as Elizabeth hurried in to dress. Our roommate nodded to our reflections in the mirror and we nodded back. Elizabeth went into the stall I had been in.

  “Oh, this is bad,” Elizabeth said. “Someone didn’t flush and I don’t know what’s in the toilet.”

  She came out of the stall, her clothes folded in her arms. The skin on her face was red and puckered, cut close to the bone.

  Abigail flushed the toilet again. “I’ve seen that happen,” she said to Elizabeth. “The water is red. A couple of tries and it goes away. Don’t give it another thought. I took care of it.”

  “I won’t,” Elizabeth said.

  Okay, so down the toilet didn’t work. Then where? My head throbbed. I wet a washcloth in cool water and buried my face in it. I heard Elizabeth go into a different stall.

  “The pain starts right away, if you’re a few hours late taking the Tonic,” Abigail said in a hushed tone, turning the faucet on full blast. Sounds stabbed at my ears. “Whatever you do, act normal. This won’t last long but you have to be sure you don’t let anyone know. Terminals don’t notice. The staff might. You complain of anything, they’ll give you a double dose and force you to take it. There’s supposed to be a cure, but we haven’t found it yet.”

  I nodded.

  “You’re addicted and you’re coming off the stuff, whatever it is. Remember, they control you. I promise it doesn’t last long.”

  I’d heard of addictions. Terminals left Haven Hospital & Halls because they needed help from the outside to make them better—relieve them of the addictions they somehow got here. When they returned, those Terminals looked so spent, so worn out, I couldn’t even begin to wonder what it was that had been done to them.

  “Okay,” I said.

  In class, it felt like someone had hit me in the back of the head with a tree trunk. I went through the motions almost unable to see, my head hurt so.

  Ms. Iverson quieted us clapping—just as she does every day—and the sound was like someone banging on a pot lid inside my skull. I felt the vibrations in my cheeks.

  “Are you okay, Shiloh?” she asked. She had opened a book, waiting for the rest of us to follow her. Daniel sort of looked over at me. Abigail didn’t even make a sound. “Are you ill?”

  “Oh, I’m fine, Ms. Iverson,” I said. A lie popped into my head. “I stayed up too late reading for class.” I held the book Lord of the Flies aloft. “I know I shouldn’t have, but now I’m tired.”

  I blinked. I had never, never lied before because I had to. My nerves jangled.

  “No more late nights, Shiloh,” Ms. Iverson said. “They’re not good for you.” She sat on her desk. “Still, I’m glad you like this bit of nonfiction. We can learn a lot about sacrifice and good-doing from the death of Piggy.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  In his seat in front of me, Gideon shifted. He seemed to have not heard a thing I said. Could anyone hear the banging in my head? How had this happened to the three of them and I not noticed?

  * * *

  “Listen,” Abigail said at lunch. My face felt fat with the pain. Swollen. “You keep right on pretending you are who you were. Watch what everyone else does and you do it. A few more days and we’re out of here.”

  Abigail stood beside me, encouraging me to put more and more and more food on the plate.

  “Keep going,” Abigail said. “You have to keep up with your previous intake of nutrition. The staff notices these kinds of things. It’s their job.” She nodded at me. “And anyway, the more in your system, the faster the Tonic clears out.”

  I picked up my fork, seeing it tremble in my hand. It took a great effort to eat. My plate was full. Piled high. How did I consume so much before?

  And then those side doors opened.

  Even with my headache, I jerked my head up. The movement caused pain to shoot down my shoulders and into my palms. I dropped the fork and it spun a couple of times before it fell to the floor. When I leaned over, my skull threatened to explode off the top of my body.

  Those doors. So tall. So slow. It was a torture to watch. There was that bit of a squeak, and the whole room went quiet.

  I couldn’t move. No one moved.

  Not any of us.

  We waited.

  C
ount! the voice in my head said. Protect yourself. Protect Abigail. And Gideon. And Daniel and the rest of the Terminals. Count!

  Ms. Iverson didn’t look up from her plate. Mr. MacGee settled his napkin in his lap.

  “Hello, Terminals,” Dr. King said. His voice boomed in my ears, turned my brain to jelly. A boiling emotion came up inside me, one that had never before filled me about Dr. King.

  He was the reason we were all here. He was responsible. I had to look away or I might scream.

  He waved, stepping through the sun that fell to the floor in a golden puddle. The sun seemed a lie, too.

  Principal Harrison took huge steps, following behind Dr. King, like he needed to catch up. He fingered his ponytail. To the stage they went. Up the stairs while someone ran for the mic.

  Dr. King waved again and Principal Harrison held out his hands. There wasn’t a sound in the room.

  Abigail reached for me, and I let her touch me. My stomach didn’t swirl as much, but it felt like a band played in my forehead using my eyeballs as the cymbals.

  One …

  two …

  three …

  four …

  What was wrong with me? I would lose us all if I didn’t speed up.

  five …

  six …

  seven …

  “Don’t worry,” Abigail said. Her face was pale. “Don’t worry.”

  I couldn’t let her voice in my head. It must be the headache’s fault. Because I wasn’t taking the Tonic.

  You should take it!

  No! Count!

  ten …

  eleven …

  twelve …

  Just make it to fifty before they say the name. You don’t have to go to a hundred. Get to fifty.

  “Whatever you do, Shiloh, whoever it is, don’t make a sound.”

  Focusing on Abigail’s face was difficult, but I nodded at her words.

  sixteen …

  seventeen …

  eighteen …

  nineteen …

  “We have reports back now for…”

  Hopelessness crashed through me. I wouldn’t make the countdown. I wouldn’t even get as far as usual and maybe, because of me, someone I knew …

  No one made a sound.

  twenty …

  “… for Elizabeth.”

  I gasped. Elizabeth?

  Our Elizabeth?

  She startled. Dropped her spoon, still holding tomato basil soup, and it pinged against the table, splashing on her shirt. Her face went red and I saw that her black hair had been pulled back in a perfect braid. There were tiny pink ribbons at the bottom and top of her hair.

  “I don’t want to go,” Elizabeth said to me and Abigail. “I want to stay here. I don’t want to go.”

  “Of course you do,” Principal Harrison said. How had he heard her? “There’s something wrong and we must take care of it. Ms. Iverson, please help Elizabeth get her prepared bag.”

  Ms. Iverson hesitated, then nodded once. She pushed back her chair. “It’ll be okay,” Ms. Iverson said. “Elizabeth, finish your lunch. I’ll go get your things.”

  Abigail didn’t look at me. The whole Dining Hall seemed to grow smaller, tighter.

  “Don’t make eye contact with her.” The words floated over to me. Had Dr. King heard that? Abigail ate a bit of wilted spinach. Her hands shook.

  A lie! A lie! Aliealiealiealiealie … My mind didn’t want to stop. Pain thumped with the words. Aliealiealie.

  Elizabeth turned to her food. She ate in slow motion. Now only two splotches of rose colored her cheekbones.

  “Get back to lunch,” Dr. King said. “Eat up.” Then he looked at me as though he could see my missing parts.

  I swallowed. Would I break eye contact if I drank my morning Tonic. Maybe I wouldn’t? I forced myself to eat. To not look back up. I devoured the lean lamb and the new lettuce (like some I had helped plant), along with the tiny grilled eggplant that was not even three inches long yet.

  “Whatever you do, Shiloh…” Abigail spoke through the food in her mouth. She ate large bites. Her eyes were squinty. “—remember to be like everyone else. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Be like them.” She gestured with her chin at the rest of the Terminals.

  They all ate. Some slower than others. Maybe Elizabeth’s being chosen had unsettled them. Or relieved them? But the rest of the lunchroom of Terminals ate with little talking. They were all intent on getting every last bit cleaned off their plates.

  Like I had been.

  “I don’t want to go,” Elizabeth said. Her plate was empty.

  Ms. Iverson came up behind Elizabeth. I hadn’t seen her reenter the Dining Hall. “Ready, Elizabeth?”

  Elizabeth shook her head no, but she stood, back straight. Her braid went all the way to the pale blue belt at her hips.

  I wanted to say good-bye, wanted to say anything, but I ate the eggplant that tasted almost too bitter to swallow.

  14

  The day went on forever. I was haunted by Dr. King’s stare, by Elizabeth’s straight back, by her not wanting to go. All day a lump the size of a fist sat in my throat, making it difficult to swallow.

  And the pain. I couldn’t get away from it. No matter how I tried, it was there. In every part of my body, places I hadn’t even known I had before. All of it hurt.

  That night, when it was time to get ready for bed, I walked in slow motion to the shower. Cupping the Tonic in both hands, I tried to keep the medicine steady and not spill it. Never had I wanted to drink the nighttime Tonic more.

  Even though I’d showered this morning, I had to again. Sweat seemed to pour off me. My shirt was damp. I’d thrown up three times. Even the soles of my feet hurt.

  In the shower, I knelt. My body wanted to give up. I was so compelled to drink that my hands trembled as cool water splashed around me.

  “Do it,” I said. “Do it.” Water ran in my mouth as I whispered. My eyes felt swollen.

  At last, I tipped the drink out of the cup and watched it swirl away, thinning to pink as it went.

  The water pounded on my chest. My scalp was so sensitive, I didn’t think I could stand even a drop to hit my head.

  “You’ll be better soon.” But I wasn’t sure. There were too many things I suffered from to just “get better.”

  Like that, I felt the scream from my dreams tearing up from inside, from below my stomach. I bit my lip to stop the sound. I bit till a chunk of flesh came off and blood seeped into my mouth. I spit over and over, watching the red wash away like the Tonic had.

  I kept seeing Elizabeth’s ribboned braid. Hearing her voice, that she didn’t want to go. Seeing her stand so tall.

  The lump in my throat grew bigger.

  I remembered them all, the Terminals who had left, one by one. Sometimes straight-backed like Isaac had gone. Others not wanting to leave, like Elizabeth.

  All had been afraid.

  I stayed on the tile until my knees ached. When I knew I couldn’t wait any longer, I got up. Gentle as I could, I washed my hair, almost not touching my head. The soapy water ran over my body, over my scar.

  All of them being called out. James and Madeleine and Chloe. Bartholomew and Marte and then three males, all in a row—Seth, Jacob, and Peter. There was Damaris and Leah and me and Abigail. Mark, Edna, Lydia, Ruth, Miriam. Claudia. Isaac. Elizabeth.

  Sometimes they came back.

  Sometimes …

  Worry coursed through me.

  I wanted to run, escape, try to get away, even with this massive headache.

  Their eyes. Their faces.

  I had been terrified.

  Don’t think of that.

  Think obedience.

  The voice was dimmer. Not so strong.

  One step at a time. Just one at a time. I faced the water, let it hit my cheekbones. I could do this.

  Rinse.

  Get out of the shower.

  Dry off.

  No running.

  Get dressed for bed.
<
br />   Make it through the next day.

  Abigail and Gideon and Daniel were right. We had to fight. Had to free those who couldn’t free themselves. We might be able to stop innocent Terminals from dying.

  If I had the courage.

  Even if I had this headache the rest of my life.

  I turned the water to cold, hoping the water would beat the unsteadiness from my body, then tried to follow my own commands.

  * * *

  The room felt empty with Elizabeth gone.

  I couldn’t swallow at all now.

  When the lights went out, I crawled from my bed. The muscles in my neck were so tight, I couldn’t relax. No wonder everyone met at night. They couldn’t sleep. I went to the window and checked the gazebo. Overhead, the moon was so full, it looked like it might pop. The thought made my stomach turn over.

  A warm wind had blown through that morning and all traces of snow had melted. Spring was here. And the promise? Hard to say anything about promise when I felt like this. And with Elizabeth gone.

  “Just a few more hours, Shiloh,” Abigail said from her bed. “It’s a pretty quick detox from whatever they give us. Turns out they can’t operate while the drugs are in our system.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Abigail came to where I stood. She had folded up the flannel of her pajama arm where part of her body was missing and pinned the cloth together. Who taught her to do that?

  “When we donate,” she said, “if there are any traces of the Tonic in our systems, they can’t give the parts to the Recipient. You’ll be better by tomorrow afternoon. I promise. That’s about how long it took me.”

  I groaned. Tomorrow afternoon? I looked out the window again. Nothing. No one. I went to bed at last, Elizabeth’s braid and those perfectly tied ribbons the last things I remembered.

  * * *

  In the morning, my eyes buzzed. They jittered in my skull.

  The pain was so intense, I couldn’t open them all the way.

  Mary moved around the room. Her bare feet on the carpet sounded amplified.

  “What is it, Shiloh?” Mary asked, from where she brushed back her short hair.

  I pressed my hands to my forehead, tried to relieve the searing pain. If I could sit up, I’d drink the Tonic. I would. I didn’t care what I had thought in the shower last night. This was awful. Horrible!