“So you’re a professional liar,” Beyza said, her tone frosty.
“It’s part of the job, yes.”
Sophie narrowed her eyes. “Kim knows this. That’s why she made sure you kept that gun.”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Sophie said. “I don’t like being lied to, Walker. If there are things you can’t tell me, be honest about it. As for the rest, when we’re no longer under attack or under quarantine, I’ll decide if I like you or hate you. Until then, do your job.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “Only that might be harder than I’d thought an hour ago. I’m happy you think me having useful secrets is good news, but I’m sorry to say there’s some bad news to go along with it.”
Sophie didn’t want to ask the question.
Beyza did it for her. “How bad?”
“Follow me,” Walker replied, turning back the way he’d come. It wasn’t an answer, but the expression on his face had been answer enough.
* * *
Dr. Tang felt words on her tongue and pressed her lips together to keep them from coming out. She had waited for Walker in the atrium, but it had been Beyza who had come to find her, instructing her to seek Walker and Sophie in the south wing. A nervous Beyza had gone off to her own quarters and left Dr. Tang to fend for herself.
Now she stood sweating in her hazmat suit and listened to the cook and his girlfriend talk about everything except the ghosts they had supposedly seen, and she wanted details. They had to be hallucinations, Dr. Tang felt certain of that, but how strange that all three of them had interpreted those hallucinations as something spectral.
They were in Dmitri’s room. Rachel apparently normally shared her quarters with someone named Marissa, but she’d been sleeping with the cook for months, ever since Dmitri’s former roommate—the original site manager—had been dismissed due to behavioral issues, including being high on whatever drugs he might get his hands on while in town. These were more details than Dr. Tang required, but once she’d begun talking, a frightened Rachel seemed unable to stop.
Walker had left on other errands, and Sophie had instructed the others living in the south wing to remain in their rooms. The nervous, frightened Rachel continued to babble, revealing her deep respect for Sophie along with her belief that Sophie had never really noticed her, and generally thought the grad students were extensions of her own identity instead of people in their own right. While Sophie stared at her in astonishment, Rachel also went on to confess that she had been fucking Dmitri mostly out of boredom.
The cook’s head did a slow swivel, and he stared at her. “Did you just say that out loud?” he asked, seeming as amused as he was insulted.
Rachel started to cry. “I did, didn’t I? Oh, my God. What is wrong with me?” She sat down on the edge of the cot and stared up at Sophie. “Do something.”
Dr. Tang glanced at Dmitri. “Is she not usually like this?”
“Not that I’ve seen,” he said, reaching up to scratch at his arm but then lowering his hand, self-conscious about the rash. “She’s just freaking out. She’s afraid.”
“I am,” Rachel agreed. “I’m freaking out. I’d try to sneak out right after you leave, but I’m afraid the soldiers will shoot me. Jesus, I need a sedative.” She buried her face in her hands. “Seriously, Doc, do you have anything?”
Dr. Tang sat next to her on the cot, the hazmat suit crinkling conspicuously. “I wish I did, Rachel. I could use one myself. We’re getting some supplies from camp, so if I get something, I’ll bring it for you.”
The woman glanced up hopefully. “Really?”
“I promise. Now—”
Voices in the corridor made Sophie snap her head around. She swore under her breath and stepped from the room.
“Marissa. Bastien, listen, get back into your rooms, please,” she said out in the hall, the words seeming to slither through the doorway, whispering along the stone walls. “I know you’re worried. We all are. But please try to get some rest. We’re going to have a long day tomorrow.”
The voices argued with her, politely but urgently, judging by their tone, and the conversation moved farther down the hallway. Dr. Tang shifted her attention back to Rachel and Dmitri, alone with them now.
“Walker told Sophie that you saw ghosts.”
Rachel laughed softly. “Wow, you just threw that out there.”
Dr. Tang shrugged inside the plastic suit. “Seems like the best approach. It’s not every day you hear a good ghost story.”
Dmitri sat on the cot opposite them and hung his head. “I don’t know what I saw now. What does it matter? That guy Walker thinks we were hallucinating, anyway.”
“Sure didn’t feel like a hallucination,” Rachel said.
“Have you had a lot of those?” Dr. Tang asked, smiling behind the clear plastic mask of her headpiece.
“One time, on mushrooms in college, I thought my hand could paint the sky.” Rachel’s eyes were deeply earnest. “And when I was six, I thought my dolls were having a party without me and cried all day. My mom told me it was a dream, but I could have sworn I heard them right before I opened my eyes.”
Despite the things she had said about their sex life, Dmitri leaned toward her, eyes narrowed with concern. “Love, are you all right?”
Rachel snickered at that. “Of course not. Neither of us is all right. Probably none of us.”
“The ghosts,” Dr. Tang prodded.
She didn’t want to seem too eager, didn’t want them to suspect she had a personal interest in this question of ghosts, but she needn’t have worried. Both of them were too focused on their circumstances to pay much attention to her. Dr. Tang listened as they recounted what they’d seen, shuddering as she recalled her own experience. Rachel had witnessed an act of brutality, but it seemed Dmitri’s ghosts had been engaged in violent sex or some kind of sacrificial rite.
If these were mere hallucinations, they certainly shared a theme. The knowledge sent a spider of dread scuttling along her spine.
“So what do you think?” Rachel asked.
Dr. Tang tilted the woman’s head back, studying the dark spots under her chin. The gloves of her hazmat suit weren’t as thin as she’d have liked, but she felt for Rachel’s lymph nodes and they did seem swollen.
“I think you’re both ill.”
“Obviously,” Dmitri said. “But the ghosts?”
“I’ve never encountered evidence of their existence,” Dr. Tang replied. “I’d prefer a natural explanation.”
“So we’re ill,” Rachel said. “That’s the best you can do? Aren’t you supposed to be the expert?”
Smiles did not come naturally to Dr. Tang, but she smiled then, as best she could. Best not to tell them their symptoms reminded her of not one but several viruses but still mystified her. Had they been exposed to some unknown microbial bacteria? It certainly seemed that way.
“I’ll need more to go on than a cursory physical examination,” Dr. Tang said. “In a hospital environment, with the right tests and labs and equipment.”
She stood, aware of Rachel and Dmitri watching her closely, stunned that she would just walk out without giving them more answers—answers she didn’t have, though they seemed to believe otherwise.
“For now, I have to insist that you stay in this room. The others on this corridor may already be exposed to whatever’s causing your rash, but we can’t take any risks. Sit tight here. Get some rest. Try to sleep.”
“Not likely,” Dmitri muttered.
“Try,” Dr. Tang said, walking to the curtained doorway. “Whatever’s going on, rest will help. Meanwhile, I’ll be back to check on you in a couple of hours, and then again at sunrise.” She lifted the curtain and held it open as she stepped out, turning back toward them. “If you develop any other symptoms or things worsen considerably, give a shout and someone will come find me.”
“And if we see more ghosts?”
Dr. Tang did not smile this time. “Say hello
for me. Trust me, they’re a product of fever, triggered by the virus.”
Ghosts did not exist. Of course not.
She let the curtain fall and paused a moment to breathe and think. When she glanced up, she saw Sophie emerging from another of the staff rooms on the corridor.
“Anything?” Sophie asked.
Dr. Tang approached her, wary of being overheard. “Not here.”
“Do you have any sign of rash?” Sophie said, eyes narrowing.
“Not that I’m aware of. No itching, anyway.” Dr. Tang had experienced some symptoms that indicated illness, including chills and shortness of breath—and the ghosts, she couldn’t forget those—but exhaustion and being inside the suit could contribute to some of that. Now wasn’t the time for that conversation.
Sophie nodded. “No itch for me, either.” She gestured toward the room she’d just left. “At least a couple of others have the beginnings of a rash. And one didn’t want to let either of us examine him, so I don’t know what to make of that.”
Dr. Tang gestured for Sophie to precede her, and the two of them headed down the corridor. The lights flickered. Her heart jumped a bit at the idea that the generator might shut down, but it lasted only a moment. Surely they had a backup generator. Nothing to worry about, she told herself. There were plenty of things to be afraid of down in Derveyî besides the dark.
“Doctor?” a voice called behind her.
She turned just as a woman came into the corridor, coughing loudly.
“Marissa, go back into your room,” Sophie said.
Instead, someone else pushed through a curtain. The man had a thin golden beard, the sort of thing that resulted from shaving every few weeks and then not bothering in between. His cheeks were flushed pink, his expression deeply anguished.
“Dr. Durand,” he said, “you gotta give me one.”
“Sean, I told you—”
“You gotta,” Sean wheedled. “Not for me, for my mom.”
Dr. Tang backed up a step as the man came toward her, hands outstretched and pleading.
“I’m the only one who takes care of her,” he said, tears at the corners of his eyes. “Something happens to me, she’s got no real income. Nobody’ll look out for her. Don’t you get it? I need one of those goddamn suits!”
His voice rose to a shout.
Marissa coughed again, erupting in a jag of wheezing, choking coughs that bent her over in the corridor, blocking Sean from advancing any farther. Sophie took Dr. Tang by the arm, and it took a moment for her to realize Sophie wanted her to keep moving, to leave these people alone.
Dr. Tang slipped by her and started for the door. One of the soldiers would be out there now. Walker had said he would get Corporal Taejon to come up or Dunlap to assign someone. A quarantine within a quarantine. It seemed absurd, but also the very least they could do.
“Give me a fucking suit,” Sean demanded. “I’m not kidding, Sophie. I swear to God—”
Marissa’s cough turned wet. She cried out in pain. At the door, Dr. Tang turned to see the woman doubled over. The lights flickered, and for a moment the dust eddying in that light seemed to form a figure. But then that wet, violent rattle came again, and Marissa coughed a wad of something thick and dark onto the stone floor. It might’ve been red, darkened by the strange lights, but it didn’t look like blood to Dr. Tang. Just black sludge.
“What the hell—” Sophie began.
“Doc, you’re not listening!” Sean screamed, spittle flying from his mouth. He shoved Marissa aside. “I want a fucking suit!”
Sophie shifted into a defensive posture, ready for a fight. Dr. Tang took another step back, feeling vulnerable although she was the only one in a hazmat suit. Sophie wore only a filtration mask, and if Sean ripped off the mask it would leave her exposed.
“Okay,” she said, her voice cracking. She would give Sean a hazmat suit, or at least lie to him to calm him if that meant avoiding violence now. “I’ll get you a—”
Then Sean lifted his head and she saw his eyes clearly for the first time, saw how bloodshot they’d become, so red that only blotches of white remained. Blood ran from his nose, onto his lips. He reached for Sophie.
Gasping for breath, Marissa managed to grab his shirt.
Sophie punched him as he turned, caught him hard in the temple. Sean staggered backward, and in that moment two others came out of their rooms. From the back of the corridor, Dmitri pushed out through his curtain.
“Dmitri, I told you—” Dr. Tang said.
But then Dmitri and the others were on Sean. He roared and bucked against them as they dragged him to the floor. Behind and above them, the lights flickered, and again something formed in the dust in the air, a silhouette, a figure reaching its hands up toward the ceiling. Dr. Tang saw its face, saw pure avarice, as if it reached for its darkest heart’s desire. The lights winked, and it was gone. Voices shouted, but Dr. Tang glanced around and realized none of the others had seen it.
Marissa wheezed as she knelt by Sean, whom the others kept pinned to the floor. She lifted the bottom of her shirt to cover her mouth as she shouted at him.
“Be still, Sean! Be still! This is not helping your mother.”
He bucked once more and then began to cry, lolling his head to one side in shame. Between whimpers, he gritted his teeth and raged for a moment or two and then surrendered anew.
“You’re sick,” Marissa said, more gently this time.
Dmitri glanced around at them. “By now we’re all sick.”
They looked up at Sophie for confirmation. She was their leader after all, but there she stood in her filtration mask, and Dr. Tang in a hazmat suit. Sophie had first put on that mask for their protection, but they wouldn’t see it that way now, Dr. Tang knew.
“Go,” Dmitri said. “Figure this out. I don’t want to die here.”
“Nobody’s died from this,” Sophie replied.
She didn’t say the word yet, but Dr. Tang felt sure they’d all heard it implied.
Marissa coughed again, and all but Sean turned toward her. Dr. Tang thought it was a good thing they hadn’t seen her cough up that black sludge or seen the figure swirling in the flickering lights. They were frightened now, but not terrified. Terror would make things so much worse.
“We’ll do all we can,” Sophie said. “I’m going to get Kim and tell her we need evac to a hospital immediately. U.N. peacekeepers aren’t going to do us any good. They need to get us out of here.”
“What about the jar?” Marissa rasped.
Dr. Tang stood behind Sophie, so she couldn’t see the other woman’s face, but the tone of her reply said it all.
“Fuck the jar.”
SIXTEEN
Beyza nearly jumped out of her skin when she drew back the curtain to enter her room and saw Cortez sitting on the end of her bed in the dark. Only the slash of light from the corridor cast any illumination, and she held the curtain open so she could get a look at him.
“What are you doing in here?” she said quietly, urgently, voice muffled by her mask. “Are you okay?”
Cortez made a sort of huff that reminded her of her father’s favorite dog. “You’re joking, right?”
Beyza let the curtain drop behind her and reached out to grab the power cord that hung from overhead. She clicked on the lights, a rack of three that had been arrayed along the left side of the chamber. Cortez shied away from the brightness, but when he glanced up, she saw the sadness in his eyes.
“Perhaps okay is the wrong word,” she admitted. The tension and anxiety caught up with her, then, and she swore under her breath.
“I’m not going to ask how you are,” Cortez said. “Just come over here.”
Beyza smiled wearily and went to join him. It felt strange to be in such a quiet place with this man with whom she shared such intimacy, when so much horror had been unfolding around them.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” she told him. “I thought this thing between us was meant to be a secret
.”
“I needed to see you. To be with you,” Cortez said, pushing her hair away from her eyes. “You still look silly with that mask on.”
“You’re still silly looking.” Beyza turned her back to him. “Massage my shoulders? I’m all knotted up.”
He obliged, softly at first and then more forcefully, kneading her neck and shoulders before he leaned in to kiss her in those tender places. Beyza shivered with pleasure and pain and the release of tension.
“This isn’t really the time,” she told him, face flushing. She took his hand and put a little distance between them, but she stayed on the bed. “Something is going on. Dmitri and Rachel are sick. Hallucinating, too.”
Cortez paled. “Were you with them?”
“I didn’t touch them, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m not stupid. Nobody coughed on me, either, but we really need to be careful. You are supposed to be confined to your quarters, for instance.”
“I could be confined to your quarters.”
He gave her that smile that always destroyed her, the one that had persuaded her into bed with him in the first place. Well, not bed. The first time they’d made love, it had been up on the rocky hill on top of Derveyî, on a moonless night but with an ocean of stars across the sky. And it hadn’t been making love then; it had been pure fucking. Beyza could not have said if they had ever really made love, but whenever she was with Cortez, she forgot her husband, forgot how unhappy her life had been before coming onto this project. This kind, handsome, playful man was not the source of her happiness—he did not get credit for that—but he had been instrumental in her unlocking the prison of depression she’d kept herself in for years.
The idea of being quarantined in here with him was not so terrible at all. Together they could forget the people dying aboveground, and the danger they were in, and the uncertainty of what the night and the following day would bring.
“Take off your clothes,” she whispered to him.
Cortez grinned.
Beyza struck him halfheartedly. “I want to make sure you don’t have a rash or something.”
The Pandora Room: A Novel Page 17
