The Vines

by Shelley Nolden

She’d learned that bats are ideal hosts for deadly pathogens. In their search for food, they cover vast areas, dropping feces that can land on other animals’ food sources. In 2004, scientists from China’s Wuhan Institute of Virology found a cave in the wilderness of Yunnan Province that was home to bats carrying hundreds of coronavirus strains. One of those strains matched the virus responsible for the SARS outbreak. Only about half a mile stood between that cave and the nearest village. Its exact location: a well-protected secret.

  Lily hoped to God that those bats in the Gettlers’ shed hadn’t come from that cave, via the black market. Regardless of their source, their presence was problematic. During her Internet searching, she’d read about three subsequent smaller SARS outbreaks. The World Health Organization believed that they’d all originated from failures in safety procedures at virology laboratories. If even those top institutions’ containment procedures had been flawed, then the security of the Gettlers’ off-the-grid operation couldn’t be ironclad.

  Where did those bats wind up? Lily wondered for the gazillionth time. She’d assumed that Finn’s determination to return to North Brother related to that very question. Dread that Rollie was using the abandoned island to secretly house those bats pooled in her stomach.

  If those bats were carrying a coronavirus, or another disease, such as Ebola, and one escaped . . .

  Considering her and Sylvia’s medical issues, the notion of a respiratory disease outbreak in New York City freaked her out.

  To fend off a panic attack, Lily forced herself to breathe slower. She was jumping to conclusions, she told herself. Then again, maybe Rollie was crazy, and a threat to public health. Clearly Finn was concerned about that possibility.

  Long before she’d glimpsed that cage through the shed window, Lily had suspected something was off with his family. It didn’t require a psychology degree to realize that any family who believed it had been ordained to unearth a chemical compound that would lead to a universal vaccine or cure had serious problems. But it had been more than that.

  Rollie’s questions about her medical history, values, and commitment to Finn, seemingly whenever the two of them were alone, had begun the night they’d met, when Finn had stepped away to use the restroom during dinner at a Cal Poly restaurant. The covert looks, too, made her feel like Rollie was constantly assessing her suitability for his son.

  She knew that his father’s approval mattered a great deal to Finn. So, for Finn, she’d tried to win Rollie’s favor. And, admittedly, for herself as well. All her life, she’d been longing for a dad, and she’d found one in Rollie by disregarding her gut instinct to stay clear.

  Two years ago, Leonard had finally confessed that having a toddler with brain cancer had been too much for him. As if that justified his relocation to Los Angeles before she’d finished her third round of treatment. “I thought you were going to die,” he’d informed her while asking for forgiveness twenty years after the fact. She’d told him she’d think it over. As long as she had Rollie, it had been easy not to.

  But had she really been ignoring her instincts? Lily wondered. Her stated reasons for refusing to commit to Finn were legit; he deserved a healthy wife and biological children. Yet, if she truly believed that he’d be happier with another woman, wouldn’t she have already forced him to move on? There had been another factor at work within the shadows of her subconscious, fueling her fear of commitment.

  Cora’s ominous words had given her permission to recognize a feeling she’d smothered for years. The notion of marrying into a family so tightly bound by loyalty, secrecy, and reverence for its patriarch frightened her.

  While she liked Kristian, whom she knew genuinely cared about her health and happiness, she had been quietly observing his wife. Hannah always seemed on edge around Rollie. Even Milo showed an unusual amount of deference to him.

  That same man would likely find out that Finn had broken his edict to stay off the island if she did call Kristian, which was beginning to look unavoidable. Regardless of any possible truths behind Coraline’s insinuations about marrying into the Gettler family, Finn was in danger.

  Picking at her nails, she considered notifying the police instead, which would land Finn in jail.

  Rising, she began another lap. To solve this, she needed more information. The only way to achieve that was by calling the woman back.

  Holding her breath, she pressed the speed dial button and waited.

  With each ring, her heart rate accelerated.

  The call connected with a click.

  “You need to stay away from them.” That same, hoarse voice.

  Lily’s stomach clenched, but she wouldn’t be pushed around. “Put Finn on.”

  “No,” Coraline breathed heavily. “This project poisons their souls. I can see Finn’s a good man, but he won’t stay that way.”

  “You’re wrong,” Lily said with a snarl. “You don’t know anything about him.”

  “I’m sorry, for what I’m about to do.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?!” Lily shouted into the phone.

  The line had already gone dead.

  Two hours later

  August 8

  o relieve a muscle ache in his back, Finn curved his shoulder blades, inward and away from the window fencing. According to the woman, Rollie should be arriving in fewer than two hours. Assuming he could make it here.

  The water looked like a smooth, asphalt path from his third-story vantage point, but Finn knew the chop had to be severe.

  Compulsively, Finn yanked on the grate. If he could reach Barretto Point Park within the hour, he could borrow a cell phone and call off his dad. Then, tomorrow morning, he would show up at Rollie’s practice and demand an explanation. If his father gave him the runaround, then Finn’s voice might have to get a little too loud near the patients’ waiting room. Rollie would view such coercion as a direct violation of their sacrosanct family rules, but at this point Finn didn’t care.

  “You ready?”

  Startled by her sudden return, he jerked his head toward the dark observation window. “For what?”

  “To leave. I’m letting you go.”

  In disbelief, Finn tried to shake away the dizziness caused by dehydration.

  “Your kayak’s still on the western shore.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t steal it.”

  Cora snorted with annoyance. “She’s exactly where you left her, poorly hidden in the marram grass.”

  Unsure if she’d meant that as an insult, he asked, “What happened to waiting for Rollie?”

  “Change of plans. Your girlfriend called.”

  Finn swore under his breath.

  “The name Lily kept appearing on the screen, even when the phone didn’t ring. Kinda like a telegraph. Anyway, two of the times she called, I did answer.”

  “And…what did you say?”

  “That I plan to execute you for your family’s crimes.”

  Finn winced, then reconsidered.

  “I don’t buy it,” he said, shaking his head. “Lily’s got nine-one-one on speed dial. This place would be crawling with police by now.”

  “Nine-one-one?”

  How could she not know about that? Unless she had spent her first decade here, too. Impossible. “What did you really say?”

  “That I’d snuck onto the island to photograph the ruins and found your phone. She was so worried about you. Apparently, she’s in love. It made me feel guilty, so I’m letting you go. But if you’d rather stay . . .”

  It had to be a trick. Allowing him to walk out, then slicing one of his major arteries, would save her the effort of dragging his body. Or this related to her scheming to find the entrance to the supposed tunnel. Regardless, his odds of survival would be better outside the cell.

  “I’m good with leaving.” He stooped to pick up the dime magazine. The
story hadn’t ended well for the Native American.

  “Did you call off my dad?”

  “I left him a ‘voice message,’ like the recording told me to do.” She rapped the pane. “Now pay attention. If you don’t follow my instructions precisely, you will get a knife in your spine.”

  Finn gritted his teeth. “I’m a good listener even without a death threat.”

  “Open the door. It’s unlocked.”

  Surprised, he twisted to check. Before entering the nurses’ station, she must have silently slid aside the deadbolt—another reminder that this was her terrain. Cautiously now, he crossed the room. The door squealed as he eased it open.

  “Your gear is on the floor. Take out your flashlight, then sling your pack over one shoulder. I want to have a clean shot at your back.”

  In the darkness he groped for the main zipper. The interior reeked of antiseptic. He slid the magazine—a valuable bargaining chip—along with his sketchbook into the pack and reached for his phone, to no avail.

  His knuckles banged against his canteen bottle. He finished it off and tucked the container into the cording that crisscrossed the front of his bag.

  “Did I say you could drink that?”

  Her voice had echoed from the blackness down the corridor.

  “You didn’t say I couldn’t.” The reprimand had come after he’d finished. Maybe she did intend to let him leave.

  He found his tactical flashlight and nudged its switch.

  The beam illuminated the swaying corpse of a baby, hanging from the top frame by a vine.

  Finn yelped and jumped back.

  Wrapped tightly around her neck was the tribal bracelet he’d left with the Toblerone.

  Did she strangle that infant? With his eyes squeezed shut, he could still see its small, battered form and open, crystalline blue eyes.

  Those haunting irises: his light had reflected off them like they’d been made of glass.

  Maybe they are, he thought, forcing himself to return the beam to the tiny body.

  An antique baby doll, Finn realized and exhaled heavily with relief. Yet, still, he felt nauseated. The whole thing was gruesome and sick.

  “Why the fuck did you do that?”

  “It’s a warning,” she said from the gloom. “And a test. Your reaction was surprising, considering you’re Ulrich’s grandson. He would have appreciated the gesture, more so if it had been an actual Jew or Gypsy infant.”

  “How do you know so much about him?”

  “I know everything about your family.”

  The statement had sounded like a threat.

  “What he did was heinous. I would change my last name, but what good would that do? The Jews he murdered would still be dead. I’m nothing like him.”

  “People change. I’m not going to sit around and wait for that to happen to you.”

  I have to get out of here.

  He flicked the beam in the opposite direction, and she appeared near the end of the wing, a respirator mask shielding her face.

  She pointed at his bag. “You need more bug spray, a good, thick coat.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it. Then take the stairs in the dayroom. Once you’re outside, take your same route as before.” She strummed the tiled wall. “In reverse, obviously.”

  Fending off a recurrence of the light-headedness, he sprayed his entire body, the cloud of chemicals nearly choking him.

  “I’ll give you a thirty-second lead,” she said before the air had cleared, “then the hunt begins.”

  Finn raced along the corridor and down the two flights of stairs. Hurdling overturned chairs and dodging file cabinets, he charged through the dark administrative suite and lobby.

  As he passed through the entrance, the fresh air hit him, and he inhaled its briny scent.

  Across the narrow clearing loomed the wall of dense foliage. Searching for where he’d punched through this morning, he swept his light along it. With each second he wasted, his adrenaline surged.

  A bolt of lightning fractured the sky, and he spotted a cluster of broken branches. To reach them, he would have to cross the open space, where he’d be entirely at her mercy. Despite her command, he shifted his bag to shield his spine.

  Halfway to cover, he glanced back. She hadn’t yet emerged. To buy himself time, he could Frisbee-throw her dime novel. With a storm coming, he doubted she’d leave it there. But even with the detour, she’d catch up. And then there’d be hell to pay.

  Instead, he plowed through the thicket. Brambles scraped his arms. The buzzing of insects merged with the groaning of the trees in the wind.

  His light lurched from one shadow to the next as he searched for the male dormitory, the last structure he’d passed on his way to the tuberculosis pavilion.

  The air trilled, and a blade sank into the earth five feet ahead of him, immediately lost to the undergrowth.

  She had to be among the branches above. Instinctively, he hunched his shoulders and covered his head with one hand.

  “Keep moving!” she barked.

  Lightning streaked across a gap in the tree canopy, flooding his retinas. The toe of his boot caught something hard, shrouded by ferns, causing him to stumble.

  “That was a street curb.” This time her voice had come from ahead.

  He directed his beam at the trees bordering the ivy-covered lane.

  “There must be hundreds like it in Gotham.” She coughed, that gritty sound.

  This nightmare was getting more bizarre by the minute. “Come down, where I can see you.”

  The air whistled.

  He jumped to the side, and a faint chink sounded, barely wide of where he’d been.

  Shuffling his feet, Finn continued moving.

  The cistern sparked with the reflection of lightning. “One-one-thousand, two-one—” A rolling boom reverberated in his chest. Ahead, he could just make out the maintenance building that flanked his escape route. Launching his kayak in this weather would be reckless, but he liked those odds better than his probability of staying alive here.

  He reached the path through the trio of buildings by the docks. The Harbor Unit wouldn’t patrol during an electrical storm, but someone in the Bronx might notice his flashlight and call the police, who’d likely arrive too late. Also, he couldn’t risk tipping them off before fully understanding his father’s connection to her. He turned it off.

  A ping sounded from close behind him. He whipped around just as a surgical knife skittered across the cracked pavement. It must have bounced off his canteen bottle.

  “What the hell was that for?” he asked, addressing the forest.

  “The road at your back, between the two buildings: take it.”

  Gladly, he thought and hurried toward the city lights on the far shore. The seawall came into view. Soon he’d be within sprinting distance of his kayak.

  “Stop!”

  He halted and clenched his jaw to hide his irritation.

  “You see that building ahead, with the arched windows? Head in there.”

  The morgue and pathology building. Originally, it had been a church, though God had abandoned the structure long ago. “No way,” Finn stated even as he memorized the placement of its windows and door, which would orientate him once inside.

  A scalpel sailed past his right shoulder.

  “That was intentionally long.”

  As soon as he entered that building, she’d once again have him cornered.

  He turned to face her.

  Just visible from the light pollution, she was standing at the edge of the ivy lane.

  “Move it, Gettler!” she barked. “Your dad will be here soon.”

  “You didn’t need to lie; you already had me by the balls.”

  “I didn’t lie. Not entirely. I did speak to Lily.” She mot
ioned toward the foreboding, two-story brick structure.

  Blood rushed to his ears. “So, what did you really say?”

  “That she’ll have to find a new boyfriend,” she said, tossing a scalpel toward the brooding sky.

  Horrified, Finn reflexively shielded his chest and face.

  Catching the knife, she continued, “It may take her a while to realize it, but she’ll be far better off without you. Now get going.”

  Clenching the flashlight—his only weapon—he strode toward the dark doorway, suddenly less confident in his conviction that he couldn’t possibly hurt a woman who’d been as damaged as her scars suggested.

  1910–1915

  May 1910

  ora hugged her shins over her shroud and tried to ignore the water lapping the dock below her. Only because of O’Toole, seated beside her with his fishing rod, had she ventured this close to the river in which she’d almost drowned two and a half years ago.

  The bacteria density of the specimens collected after her and Mary’s failed escape had almost matched those taken the day before. She hadn’t needed the doctor’s “scientific mind” to deduce that her immunities worked only while on the island. Something—or some being—was keeping her here. She was still trying to figure out what, and why, but she did have a theory too audacious to voice.

  Knowing the cause wouldn’t make her existence any less lonely, or the doctor’s procedures any less agonizing. But it might make it easier not to give up. Lately the temptation had been strong.

  Three months earlier, after three years of forced quarantine for Mary, the new health commissioner had granted her permission to return to the city, provided she find employment that didn’t involve cooking. Ever since Mary’s solicitor, Francis O’Neil, had taken on her case pro bono a year earlier, Cora had been steeling herself for the loss of her friend. Yet every morning since their tear-streaked good-bye, while drinking her tea alone, Cora had still felt as hollow as the stem of a joe-pye weed.

  Similarly, Canne, who’d tossed them a newspaper each morning, then left a shell or flower on Mary’s windowsill each evening, had been acting like a dogwood that hadn’t sprung to life with the rest of North Brother’s ornamental trees and shrubs.