by Tracy Korn
"Are you OK?" Max helped me to my feet, but something in me snapped, and he suddenly seemed a layer away. Lauren's laughter and Brian's disgusting snorts were crystal clear, though, and I bolted straight into Lauren's back, shoving her hard to the ground. When she turned back, her face and neck were covered in spaghetti.
"What the shit, Balls!?" Brian gaped, and I saw red again, kicking him as hard as I could right in the beans. He dropped to the ground, and I vaguely heard his cronies laughing about his impending sterility.
"My name is Halsey. Those are balls—see if you can remember the difference next time!" I managed to say just before Lauren jumped on top of me, making both of us fall to the ground. "Ow!" I yelled when burning flooded my forearm. Was she biting me!? Whatever was left of the pent-up rage that made me shove her in the first place concentrated in one final, glorious burst as I closed my fist and punched her in the ear. When she stopped biting, I closed it again and this time, hit her directly in the nose.
Blood splattered all over her shirt and onto the floor, and the sight of it shocked me enough to break the trance I'd fallen into.
"Halsey! Holy shit!" Max yelled, close to my ear now as his arms wrapped around me from behind and pulled me off of Lauren. "Calm down. Calm down—it's OK," he repeated.
Sweeper droids hovered over to the scene, their cylindrical, brushed metal casings reflecting each other's blue and red flashing lights. Everything was in slow motion as one of the floating units moved quickly to me and flashed a scanning beam over my face, temporarily blinding me.
"Halsey Rhodes, Maxwell Barrett, proceed to the Ice Box or you will be escorted by force," the robotic droid voice commanded. Two other Sweeper units were hovering over Lauren and Brian, and I tried to stretch to see if they were going to take them by force. A second later, two robotic arms emerged from the hovering cylindrical Sweeper unit's body next to us, both of the hand-like grips crackling with electricity.
"No, we're going! We're going! Halsey, come on," Max said, moving me bodily to walk in front of him in the opposite direction. The Sweeper unit followed us a few feet back. "Stop looking back at it or it's going to get jumpy and nuke us," Max added, and something about the way he said that made me laugh. Once I started laughing, though, it was like a dam inside me had broken. I laughed harder and harder until I couldn't control myself. It was the funniest, saddest, most enraging thing I'd ever heard. "Halsey, what's wrong with you? Hey…" Max pulled me in again with one arm, then wrapped the other around me in a side hug, but the tightness of his hold made it clear it was more to keep me in place than for comfort. "You have to stop that shit, Halls, or they're going to lock you down. Take a deep breath," Max coached as we arrived at the Ice Box, which was what everyone called the holding room just outside the office. The Sweeper droid flashed a light combination that made the door slide open, and we all went inside.
"Remain to the right," the droid said, directing us to the far side of the room. Once we were there, a metal divider slid from the wall, closing off the left side of the room. Max and I sat at the metal table, which was bolted to the ground, along with the chairs. Everything was made out of molded chrome, even the walls, and it was freezing in here.
"That looks bad," Max said, eyeing my forearm, which was bleeding and swollen. "Is that...a bite mark? She bit you?" Max squinted, recoiling.
"I don't know what happened to me out there," I said absently. "I just reacted. I didn't even think, Max. Something just snapped."
"Yeah, that was pretty clear," he chuckled. "What is that?" he asked, leaning closer and glancing at my forearm again, which had started dripping a black fluid that faded to white as soon as it hit the air.
"I don't know." I winced, horrified.
The Ice Box door opened, and for a fraction of a second, I saw Lauren ushered in by another Sweeper droid, a bloody towel held to her face. Brian wasn't with her, so I wondered if that meant he was in the infirmary, or still crumpled into a wad on the cafeteria floor. The nurse came in after Lauren, along with Mr. Warren. He came through the opening left by the divider wall and pushed his now crooked glasses to the top of his head, his eyes wide in shock.
"There's a veritable riot in the cafeteria right now, so all the administrators are a little busy," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "What just happ—? Oh…" Mr. Warren stopped himself when he saw my arm. "Jan! Can you bring your kit?" he called to the nurse, who was still on the other side of the divider. She came over with a small string backpack and a lunchbox-sized medical case.
"Bite wound. Wonderful. Hold your arm out please," she said with a sigh. "What is this?" she said to herself as she got a little closer. I did as she asked, and tried not to make any noises when she sprayed what was clearly either battery acid or maybe just plain liquid nitrogen on the broken skin.
Because it hurt.
A lot.
I gulped a breath and pushed it down my throat to keep the imminent screams from coming out.
"The droid replay shows Lauren shoving you into the pillar, so no need to go into what provoked you there," Mr. Warren said, leaning against the wall. "Did that have something to do with what happened this morning, Halsey?"
I squirmed in my seat trying to figure out how not to tell him what Brian said about a morning quickie, but still say enough to justify my attempts to make him the newest—and hairiest—soprano in our school.
"No," I answered simply.
Max cleared his throat. "Actually, I would bet Brian had Lauren attack her just now. They were right there in line together," he said, raising his eyebrows at me.
I didn't have a chance to reply before a loud crash hit the wall next to us, then another, like Lauren was trying to break through the divider. But that was impossible since all the furniture in both spaces was bolted to the floor.
"What the—?" Mr. Warren darted to the gap in the door, but ducked just in time to avoid being crushed by one of the Sweeper droids hitting the wall near his head.
"Emergency-police!" the nurse screamed.
"Blue unit respond. PP743 droid is disabled. Standby for live feed," the Sweeper droid with us said just before snarls from the next room made it seem like we'd just been transported to a lion's den. The Sweeper droid moved into the space between the rooms left by the divider gap. Max moved like lightning just behind it, his expression immediately blanching.
"What…" he said through a gasp, then backpedalled into Mr. Warren. "Hey...hey, we need to get out of here!"
"What's happening?" I shouted.
"How do you close the door? Close the door!" he said, his voice raised in panic as he hit random buttons on the wall panel. He stopped abruptly and shouted in pain as he pulled his hand back, a gash across his palm already starting to bleed. The Sweeper droid with us zipped through the opening just before Mr. Warren keyed in a combination that sealed the wall the rest of the way. More crashing, more growling and snarling, but this time, the sound of scraping also came through the wall.
"Are you OK? What's happening!?" I shouted to Max.
"I don't know! Lauren's just—I don't know. She's…broken."
"What the hell does that mean?" I shook my head at him as the burning sensation on my arm intensified.
"She's crouching on the table in there!" Max said, all the blood having drained from his face. "And her arms and legs—I don't know, her neck—it's all just…bent the wrong way," he continued, shaking his head seemingly in disbelief of what he, himself, had just seen.
"What?" I said quietly, moving closer to him as another loud crash hit the wall, and we all jumped.
"Get under the table and don't make a sound," Mr. Warren said. "Help is coming."
Chapter 5
It was at least another thirty minutes before live patrols arrived—we could hear their voices coming through the metal divider, which was dented inward at us in various places from whatever Lauren had apparently launched against it. My guess was it was the other Sweeper droid unit that had been in here with us not too lo
ng before. The nurse had dressed Max's gash, but he held his hand tightly to his chest, obviously in a lot of pain.
"All clear!" a male officer's voice said. "All clear on that side?"
"We're good in here! "Mr. Warren answered. "It's safe."
The divider wall opened, but stopped about two-thirds of the way into the wall since it was too damaged to slide back in. There was black fluid all over the room next to us, but it didn't seem to be blood.
"Is that oil?" Max and I exchanged glances.
"Must be." I nodded, holding my bandaged arm, which had started to throb now as well as burn where Lauren had bitten me. I would be lying if I said I wasn't just a little worried about what kind of germs were coursing through my veins after seeing the damage in the little room—the metal table and chairs all dented and broken—and after Max's visceral description of Lauren crouching on the table and bending in weird ways.
"Any injuries?" the live patrol asked.
"We have a bite wound and a gash, but they're patched up," Mr. Warren told the officer, who was looking a little out of sorts himself. "Where's Lauren? There was another student on that side of the divider."
"We had to put her in a net restraint," the officer said, shaking his head a little before he blinked purposefully a few times and refocused on Mr. Warren's question. "She's heading to St. Agnes's," he finished, referring to the hospital just a few miles from the school.
The officer looked around the room again shaking his head at the splatters of oil and debris from the smashed Sweeper droids.
"That's where we need to take you," the nurse said with a nod to me. "If Lauren is the girl who bit you, you'll need some tests. Don't you watch the feeds? People are—" she stopped herself, but I knew what she was going to say. People are going Feral out there.
"I—no, I'm OK," I said, knowing full well there was no way my aunt and uncle could afford a hospital visit, even with the discounted rates we got since I was a student and they were gainfully employed. It would still wind up costing years of life in legacy debt that they'd either have to slowly pay back with actual money or…not, and I didn't want that on my conscience. "I really have to go finish my internship applications." I lied. "I'll be sure to tell my aunt and uncle when I get home. They'll take me for a follow-up." The nurse narrowed her eyes at me. "It already stopped hurting…" I lied again. "Whatever you did fixed me right up. Thank you so much."
Her dubious expression finally started to lift, and I quietly exhaled in relief that it didn't seem like she was going to keep insisting that I go to St. Agnes's.
"If you start feeling the slightest bit off, I want to know about it. Let me know what the doctor says after you're seen," she said with a slight nod, which I interpreted to mean she was going to trust me. I made a mental note to stop by her office—on her way to lunch so she wouldn't ask too many questions—to tell her everything was fine.
And I really hoped it would be fine. The burning was getting worse, and it was all I could do to keep the pain from registering on my face.
"I'll stop in, for sure," I replied, then grabbed Max's arm and maneuvered around the wreckage to get to the outer door.
"Halsey!" Mr. Warren called after me, but I pretended not to hear. I just needed to get outside before I actually started screaming and crying like a baby with the pain in my arm now spreading up into my shoulder and down into my hand.
Max and I were halfway down the hall before I just couldn't keep up the façade anymore, and hot tears flooded my eyes. I held my arm tightly to my chest and turned to Max.
"Do you know a Grind medic?" I asked. "I can't go to St. Agnes's. How's your hand?"
"It's fine. Your arm is not fine? You said it didn't hurt." Max looked confused.
"I told the nurse that so she didn't haul me off to the emergency room," I said impatiently. "That would cost like, six years minimum."
"Halsey…" Max rolled his eyes. "You can pay that off with actual money."
"Look, can we argue about this later? This really hurts, and it's spreading," I said, looking around to make sure no one was listening. With both our internship applications turned in, I didn't feel one bit obligated to try and figure out how I would make it through the rest of the day like this. "Just come on," I said, hitching my backpack over one shoulder as I pushed through one of the outer doors.
Chapter 6
Max and I made our way to town without issue, which was a welcome relief. The spreading pain in my arm was about all I could handle.
"We could ask Mr. Warren if the school would pay for treatment since it happened there?" Max suggested, but I shook my head.
"I don't even want to bring it up again there, OK?" I insisted." I'm lucky the nurse believed I would go to an Authorized doctor on my own. How much farther is it?" I asked, my head starting to hurt now since I'd been clenching my teeth.
"Up the street," Max answered. "The medic's place is behind Raphael's Tea shop."
I exhaled slow, controlled breaths to try and keep my composure in check. I'd made it this far, I could go another block without a full-on pain-inspired panic attack.
Twenty steps to the giant pots…ten steps to the front door…I thought as we made our way as inconspicuously as possible to the entrance. I could smell the citrus blooms from the potted trees and different flowering shrubs a good six feet before reaching the door. Inside, the smell of spices and florals seemed to weave in and out of each other with every step we took toward the front counter, which was almost completely hidden by large, round baskets of loose teas. Greenery and giant paintings of mountains and sunbursts covered nearly every square inch of the walls, and to the side were about a half-dozen sets of small tables and chairs.
"Do we just ask at the counter?" I said, losing any patience I had left.
Max shook his head quickly and abruptly. "Ni hao!" he called over the counter.
"You speak Chinese?" I managed.
"That's all I know." He smirked, and after a few more seconds, a young Chinese woman peeked at us from behind the beaded curtain doorway. She took a look at Max, then looked me up and down before waiving us back through the curtain with her. I briefly wondered how Max knew about the Unauthorized medic here, the illegal practice punishable by nearly a few decades of legacy fines if any of us were caught. That would be doubly bad for me since they'd also tack on an additional cost to undo whatever illegal procedures this medic would perform. But, that's if we were caught. Taking the risk right now was the only option.
We moved quickly through a winding corridor, and then through a few rooms before we finally reached what looked like a basement, though we hadn't gone down any stairs that I could recall. The floors were concrete and the walls were painted, white cinderblock, interrupted only by the hanging metal cabinets and metal countertops along the perimeter of the room. In the middle were two metal gurneys without padding, a huge lamp contraption that mounted to a rolling cart, and a tray that extended from the long lamp stand.
"You lay," an older Chinese woman said in a thick accent as she gestured to the gurney table. I climbed up, but didn't lie back. The younger Chinese woman who had waved us through the curtain earlier came into the room and looked me up and down, then met my eyes.
"What happened to you two?" she said with no accent whatsoever as she studied us.
"I'm fine," Max gestured to his bandaged hand. "She's not, though. Tell her, Halls."
"My arm feels like it's—on fire," I started, but the words were nearly cut off by a fresh wave of pain.
"Someone bit her," Max finished for me. "There was a weird black fluid from the bite mark, but then it turned white."
The woman's face contorted in confusion, and she moved to unwrap the bandage. "Here?" she asked, then started cutting the gauze when I nodded.
The bite was clearly marked by an angry red outline, the skin broken in places and oozing more of the black fluid Max had mentioned. Once it hit the air, it turned a milky white again like it had back in the Ice Box.
; "Huh," the woman said, raising a feathery eyebrow.
"It really burns." I pushed the words through my teeth. "Can you make it stop hurting?"
"I'll try," she said, opening a cabinet behind her and pulling out a white can without a label. "This will be really cold." She nodded and sprayed the bite wound. The shift in sensation—from seething to freezing—in my arm was almost immediate, and I nearly cried in relief. "That should have helped," she asked, but I was too choked up to answer with actual words. I nodded again and felt a hot tear spill down my cheek.
"Halsey?" Max looked hard at me.
I shook my head. "It's OK. It stopped for a second—that spray stopped it."
"The pain is coming back already?" the woman asked, and I nodded again. She sprayed the wound again, but this time, also injected something into my arm just an inch or so from the bite mark. I didn't feel a thing.
"What's that?" I asked, trying to resist the compulsion to pull my arm back.
"It's like an antibiotic, but not," the woman said. "A human bite is worse than an animal bite, so this will kick up your immune system," she added, scrunching up her face.
"What's the black stuff?" Max asked. "And why is it turning white?"
"I don't really know," she answered. "The only other thing I can do is swab a sample to run some tests. My guess would be maybe it's just your body's way of pushing out the infection that's trying to take hold? Blood mixed with white blood cells—puss, you know? When did this happen?"
"Maybe an hour ago," Max answered.
The woman's face blanched, and she quickly masked the expression with a neutral one.
"Well, that's a little fast for an infection to have taken hold. Maybe it was something whoever bit you had in their mouth at the time, and your body is expelling it."