Eclipsed

by Kathryn Hoff

  Unless you counted it harmful to spear somebody with a giant, terrifying needle.

  CHAPTER 14

  Secret Santa

  Another day went by. Three days, a week, two weeks. Up early to shift the dog to his outdoor run. Breakfast, then back to the primate lab to care for Molly, clean her cage, collect a sample, train her, and keep records. Social time with Barney in the courtyard, lunch in the nursery. In the afternoon, another training session with Molly, an hour for study, then watching the babies from four to six. Take Barney for a walk, then a last stop in the primate lab with food for Molly and Barney before supper. After supper, chatting with the teens, or doing schoolwork, or watching some old movie.

  The news reported fewer riots, but looting incidents were way up. Desperate people wanting more out of life fighting desperate people trying to protect what little they had.

  Many days, I ran into the soldier, Private Koh, strolling the north hall near the primate lab or the back passageway I used to take Barney to and from the dog run. She nodded but didn’t stop to talk, even when I said hello. I figured Sergeant Stonehouse hadn’t been kidding about keeping an eye on me and had set her to the task. Well, if he wanted to waste his squad members’ time watching me, it was fine.

  Molly was calmer, not worried at all about the white suit anymore. She even let Rico do blood draws without sedation, sticking her hand out the port, as long as I talked to her and fed her biscuits and as long as Rico didn’t go near the jab stick. Every day I gave her something new: a big box, an herb-scented stack of papers, or a bunch of carrot tops hung from the top of the cage. Sergeant Stonehouse even snagged a kid’s bottle of bubbles once—Molly and Barney both had a ball grabbing and snapping at them.

  As nearly as I could tell, there weren’t any more screwups of the sort that Quinn and Mendez had worried about.

  Routine: customary, conventional, ordinary, predictable, boring, dull.

  The only thing of note that happened was a wave of stomach flu that had the whole place—scientists, soldiers, everybody—running to the crapper.

  “Every few weeks we go through this,” Chubb said. “First the kids get diarrhea, then we get it, and soon everybody’s got it. Rice, bananas, and applesauce for three days. Westerly says it’s a norovirus, and not to worry about it. But it’s not right, is it? For us to be sick so often?”

  “Maybe we just need a new cook,” Reyna grumped.

  Despite my requests, Rico did nothing to train me in lab procedures. When I asked him flat out to help me get some lab work, he told me I was nothing but a convenient chimp handler and to leave him alone about it.

  I had no better luck with Paula. When I asked her whether I could help her in the lab after Molly went into isolation, she told me to be patient and concentrate on my job. In fact, she didn’t have much time for me—she spent all her time in the phage lab or with Quinn. Even after supper, when I went to her room to talk to her, she was either in the lab or in Quinn’s room, laughing and talking.

  How could she like him? He got her drafted. He didn’t care about Molly and he didn’t like me.

  Suck it up, Jackie. Get used to it. There was no going back. I might think Quinn was a creep, but Paula liked him.

  Maybe she even loved him.

  A week before Christmas, Sergeant Stonehouse came around with the Secret Santa name slips in his hat. I crossed my fingers and wished very, very hard for Paula’s name to come up.

  I drew Rico.

  I grimaced. Before I could even ask, Stonehouse said, “No do-overs, Miss Jackie. Think about what you want to get, under ten dollars, and see me tomorrow for approval and procurement.”

  “But then you’ll know who picked who.”

  “My lips are sealed. I’m a neutral party and general overseer to make sure nobody gets left out or gets something not in keeping with the spirit.”

  “What spirit? Nobody celebrates Christmas much anymore.”

  “Maybe that’s the true spirit of Christmas, Miss Jackie. Not a lot of gifts, just a token to remind us we’re all a family now.”

  He walked away, whistling “Deck the Halls.”

  Rico, family? No way.

  What did I know about him? He didn’t like Molly. Or me, or any of the other teens as far as I could tell. He thought he knew something about science, and he thought Quinn was a genius. What could I get him? No need for clothes, since we all wore gray jumpsuits. He didn’t need a watch, since every schoolroom had a clock. What did boys like, anyway? Chubb liked sports, but Rico hadn’t shown any interest. Food? I didn’t think a bag of chips would be “in keeping with the spirit.”

  The rest of that day and the next, we gave each other furtive glances, wondering what to get somebody else or who had drawn our names.

  After lunch, I slipped Stonehouse a note with my request. He read it, nodded once, and winked at me. “Leave it to me.”

  Even though I hadn’t drawn Paula’s name, I had to give her something for Christmas.

  Paula and I had spent one Christmas together. Like most people, we didn’t make a big deal about gifts. Why spend money on fancy crap when you might be Eclipsed at any time?

  Instead, she and I had volunteered to work at the zoo on Christmas day because, after all, the animals needed to eat and have clean cages even if the zoo was closed. We’d made up a pan of lasagna and gone to the zoo with no one around except a few other keepers who didn’t celebrate the holiday or didn’t have families to go to. We’d cleaned twice as many cages as usual and fed twice as many animals. We’d shared our lasagna with the other keepers and eaten way too many of the cookies and empanadas and samosas the other keepers had brought. We’d had a great time walking around watching the animals, who watched us and wondered why the visitors hadn’t come.

  Later at home, we’d exchanged gifts: Paula had given me sneakers and a sweatshirt and I gave her pictures of animals I’d cut from an old calendar I’d found at a used book store. For us, one Christmas made a tradition. For us, that was the true spirit of Christmas.

  I couldn’t leave the facility to shop for an old calendar. Instead, I snagged a sheet of paper from the primate lab and found my favorite photo in the primate book Paula had lent me: a big male chimp in full dominance display. His mouth was open like he was roaring, showing his huge teeth. I carefully traced him and borrowed Reyna’s colored pencils to make a jungle background, and signed it Merry Christmas, Jackie.

  On Christmas morning, I woke up early, all excited, almost like when I was a kid with a family. I slipped the picture under Paula’s door before going to the primate lab. Molly and Barney got biscuits for a Christmas treat. After putting Barney in the dog run, I hurried toward the cafeteria—and ran into Bert’s wife, Tilly.

  “Merry Christmas!” I’d been extra polite to her ever since my run-in with Bert, but she usually just glowered at me. This time, she latched a bony hand onto my shoulder.

  “Merry? You think a holy day like Christmas is for gifts and fun? It’s not. You’d do better to think on your sins and ask for forgiveness.”

  “I did apologize for losing my temper with Bert,” I said. “It won’t happen again.” Especially since Bert didn’t have to deal with Molly anymore.

  She bent close. “Be careful. There are evil things going on behind these locked doors, and more evil is coming.”

  “Tilly.” Bert was standing in the stairwell. “Come away now, love, it’s almost time for services.” He looked at me stiffly. “You’re welcome to join us, Miss Kennedy. Reverend Sinclair is broadcasting from our church. It’s always very inspirational.”

  “Thank you,” I said, “but Dr. Bardo’s expecting me. Merry—I mean, have a good day. Enjoy your services.”

  With a final deep stare, Tilly released my shoulder and turned to go upstairs.

  I shivered. She definitely gave me the creeps.

  In the cafeteria, colored lights were strung along the windows and there were trays of fruit and stacks of waffles for breakfast. A pile of wrappe
d presents under a “Do not touch” sign filled a corner table.

  “Merry Christmas, Jackass,” Chubb said. Gabe squealed and reached for the colored lights.

  “Merry Christmas, Chump!” I pulled Reyna and Deedee together into one big hug, and drew Chubb and Gabe in too.

  Westerly led the research team in, with Mendez leaning on a cane. They’d left off the white lab coats and wore red or green sweaters or sweatshirts, except for Quinn, who wore a natty black turtleneck. Paula came over to hug me. “Thank you!” she whispered. “I love it. You’ll find something from me on your bed.”

  After we filled up on fruit and waffles, Westerly waved at us to get the presents.

  Chubb and I passed out gifts. Westerly’s big parcel turned out to be a giant-sized flamingo-pink bathrobe, only slightly worn. She beamed and said she loved it. Mendez got a box of chocolates, which he shared around. Somebody gave Quinn a cigarette lighter. He muttered, “Hmm. Thank you, I suppose.” He must have thought nobody knew about his smoking habit.

  Paula got a bangle bracelet. She said it was very pretty, even though I knew she never wore jewelry.

  Reyna got a big stack of old fashion magazines, only slightly battered, which seemed to please her more than I would have expected. Chubb got a baseball cap with an Orioles patch on the front. He wore it the rest of the day. I got a bottle of cologne, which somebody must have thought was funny. I figured I could use it for enrichment for Molly.

  Rico seemed to like the used chemistry book I’d asked Stonehouse to find for him—or at least he leafed through it a little bit.

  For Gabe, there was a wooden peg bench and hammer to pound on it, which I thought was asking for trouble. For Deedee, a plastic toy shopping cart to push, for when she was able to walk. Plus, there were socks and underwear for each of us interns and Rico, and rompers for the babies.

  There were lots of generalized thanks and cheerful hugs all around. Then Quinn pulled Paula under a ball of plastic mistletoe and gave her a serious kiss. Everyone clapped except me.

  Mendez laughed and he kissed Westerly, which made her blush, and this time I clapped too. Rico grinned and pulled Reyna’s arm to get her under the plastic leaves, but she pushed him away and said, “Not on your life.” Instead, Reyna picked up Deedee and kissed her.

  Chubb kissed me on the cheek, so I wouldn’t feel left out, which was nice of him, and then he laughed and kissed me on the lips too. My face got hot.

  “Y’all clear out, now,” the cook ordered. “I got to set up for the squadron. Sandwiches on the counter—take them with you so’s the soldiers can have their Christmas.”

  I stopped at my room to put away the cologne and socks and undies and found on my bed a set of flannel pajamas. They were soft and cozy, almost like getting a hug from Paula.

  The rest of the day went on as usual, except for everyone saying Merry Christmas every time you saw them and the two hours of noise while Sergeant Stonehouse and his soldiers celebrated in the cafeteria. Their music and laughter was so loud I wondered if Stonehouse had smuggled in some booze.

  It was after that, while I was doing my shift with the babies, that Chubb poked his head into the nursery. “Something’s going on. Come see.”

  He picked up Gabe, and I picked up Deedee, and I followed him to the musty storeroom on the second floor. Reyna was already there, peering out the pane where the paint had peeled off.

  When my turn came, I peeped out the window. Outside, a dozen or so religious nuts huddled in the cold and called out stuff like, “Apocalypse is near! Pray for forgiveness! God will judge!”

  Two of Sergeant Stonehouse’s soldiers waited by the gate, watching the crowd nervously. Stonehouse himself paced up and down the drive. Quinn, in his long white lab coat, popped out of the front door, spoke to Stonehouse, and ducked back in.

  “What do they want, those protestors?” I asked.

  Reyna said, “They want us to die.”

  I must have looked like I thought she was crazy, but she nodded and said, “S’true. They’re End-Timers. They think Eclipse means the world’s coming to an end, and for all they care, the sooner the better.”

  “That’s stu—…I mean, that’s ridiculous. Don’t they know they could die too?”

  “They figure they’re gonna live if they believe hard enough. Or if they die, they’ll go to heaven.”

  Blaring sirens approached. Stonehouse shouted, “Stand back! Move away from the gate. Move back, move back.” The guards shoved the gates against the crowd, forcing them backward, just as an armored truck, flanked by a motorcycle escort, sped into the drive.

  The crowd shoved and shouted and a few rocks flew, as the soldiers held them back, holding their rifles crossways. As soon as the truck was in, the soldiers pulled the gate shut, while the crowd outside yelled and shook their fists.

  The truck made a quick turn and backed up to the schoolhouse steps. The rear doors flew open and a single soldier with a metal case stepped out and ran up the steps, where Quinn held the door open. In a few moments, the soldier ran back out without the case, and jumped back into the truck. In less than a minute, the truck and motorcycles were through the gate and speeding away.

  “What was that all about?” I asked.

  Chubb looked grim. “Mendez’s Christmas present. Strain seven.”

  Apocalypse: end of time, prophesized end of the world, catastrophe.

  CHAPTER 15

  Monkey biscuits

  At supper Christmas night, Dr. Mendez made a speech, smiling proudly. At least I thought he was trying for a proud smile, but he looked a little like Molly when she was nervous—teeth clenched, lips open and drawn tight. Whatever the cancer was doing to him, it wasn’t pretty.

  “I want to congratulate you all.” His voice was soft and raspy. “The ECA has approved this facility to progress our research more quickly in light of the great promise it holds, not simply for a treatment for Eclipse, but for a method of removing the bacterium as a threat now and in the future.”

  He sat back, exhausted. Quinn led us in polite clapping, even though we at the under-age table had no idea what he was talking about.

  “Thank you, Dr. Mendez,” Westerly boomed in her deep wheeze. “This phase of research will necessitate some changes in procedures. In two days, the chimpanzee subject will be moved to the isolation lab under Dr. Bardo’s care, where it will remain until further notice. Jacqueline, you will continue to care for the canine and assist Charles and Reyna in caring for the infants.”

  That got my attention. “You mean Molly won’t have Barney with her?”

  “There is no place in the iso unit for an unnecessary occupant,” Westerly sniffed.

  My eyes misted up. Some Christmas—my best friend was getting sent into isolation and I was getting diaper duty. I wanted to tell her how alone Molly would feel, that chimps were social animals, how Molly wouldn’t understand why Barney couldn’t be with her.

  Westerly’s gaze dared me to give her an excuse to send me away. Shut up, Jackie, and do as you’re told.

  I muttered, “Yes, ma’am.”

  Westerly relaxed a tad. “Very well. You will also take on some duties assisting Dr. Bardo.”

  Paula smiled and winked. “See me after supper about it.”

  Rico sent me a dagger-glance of envy, but I didn’t care. Plan B was working and I had a future to think about.

  Paula led the way to the iso lab and paused in front of the doors marked Danger! Isolation Lab. Infectious Agents in Use.

  “Here?” My voice came out a squeak. “I thought I’d be helping you in the phage lab.”

  “The prep room in the iso lab.” She badged the keypad. “When Molly moves into isolation, I’ll need to go into the red zone twice a day to take care of her. Your job will be to help me with the hazmat suit—it takes a second person to make sure all the seams are sealed before going into a red zone.”

  Gulping, I followed her in. Along the wall, the empty white suits hung like ghosts waiting for midni
ght.

  “This is the prep room. Beyond are the decontamination room and then the red zone.” She waved a hand toward the doors looming across the room: Danger: Decontamination. “Three locked doors. Your badge doesn’t open any of these doors—you’ll only come in here when I’m with you, or June or Avery. Under no circumstances will you ever go beyond this room.”

  I eyed the Danger sign. “Absolutely not.”

  She laughed. “I don’t want you to be terrified, just careful. Go on, look.” She pulled me over to the window on the forbidden door. “The decon room is where I’ll shower and change after being in the red zone. You can even see a little into the isolation area—it’s not much different than the primate lab.”

  The window let me see into the decon room: a bench, shower stall, some supplies. The door beyond said only Red Zone, No Entry in huge red letters. Its window gave me a glimpse of a barred cage—Molly’s soon-to-be new home.

  Paula picked out one of the white suits. “Today’s for practice. This isn’t just casually slipping the top on, like you’ve been doing for Molly. If the suit isn’t properly sealed, I’ll be exposed to strain seven. I’ll be trusting you with my health, maybe my life.”

  I bit my lip. “I understand.”

  She hung up her lab coat and began to pull on the white suit pants. “June had reservations about letting you take on this responsibility, but I told her you were good at following procedures and I trusted you.”

  She went over the steps for checking the seals and air filter on the suit, going through them by the numbers listed on a big chart on the wall.

  Halfway through, Westerly came in. “Ah. Training your assistant, I see.”

  She watched critically while I helped Paula with the suit and checked all the seals three times.

  “That’s it,” Paula said, her voice distorted by the air filter. “I don’t enter the decon room until I’m sealed in, and we’ve checked everything twice. That’s enough, I think. We’ll practice again before we move Molly.”