Slowly, Kristian leaned forward. “You’re the fiercest among us, but I understand your point: she doesn’t know how strong you are.”
Unwilling to let him think he’d won her over, she allowed herself only a thin smile. “I want you to find that cure for your mom.”
“This is about helping you, too.”
“I know.” She leaned against the windowsill, its sharpness feeling oddly therapeutic.
“I have to admit.” He cleared his throat. “I was surprised Finn failed so completely, considering she clearly has a thing for him.”
A jolt of pain raced along Lily’s sciatic nerve.
He pushed the bridge of his glasses against his nose, the top of the frame merging with his thick, dark eyebrows. “At first, I thought we could take advantage of her interest in him, but now it concerns me.”
“Why?” She rested her elbows on the sill. “She’s just starved for affection. I feel bad for her. I can’t imagine being that lonely.”
“Lily, if she falls hard for him, what do you think will happen when he rejects her?”
A chill swept over her, leaving an ice dam in her stomach.
“It’s probably for the best that you go instead of him.” Kristian cocked his head. “He doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”
“No. He can’t know.”
“Hopefully the fact that she stole those vials has clued him in to her real nature. He should give me a chance to clear up a few major misconceptions.”
She looked down at her chinos and noticed a streak of dirt from the city greenhouse where she’d spent the morning. “I’m sure he’ll come around.”
“I’ll keep trying until he does.” Kristian turned to the bookshelf behind him, then handed her a small, framed photograph.
Lily appraised the pale toddler with soulful, brown eyes. That had been her once, though her mother hadn’t kept a single picture from that wretched period. “Who is she?”
“The first patient I ever lost.” Kristian gazed out the window.
Bombarded by recollections of her own past trauma, Lily let him dwell in the memory as she struggled to tamp down her escalating anxiety.
His shoulders straightened, and his deep blue eyes locked onto hers. “Do I think one woman should be willing to endure a little discomfort to save thousands—millions—of children like Simone? Yeah, I do. Does that make me a bad person?”
“No,” she replied without meaning to. “Could Cora’s immunities—I mean, could her cells really . . . ?” She wondered how many parents had sat here waiting for Dr. Gettler to pronounce the odds of survival for their child.
He folded his hands. “Once we’ve had that final breakthrough, we’ll achieve Pasteur’s vision.” He took the frame from her and returned it to the shelf. “I know it in my heart.”
She perched across from him. “What makes you so convinced you’re close?”
He drew a comma-shaped circle on a notepad. Within it he scrawled NBI. “Location is the key to her immunities,” he said, tapping the figure with his pen. “My great-grandfather conducted all stages of his experiments while at Riverside, but his equipment was crude and his knowledge elementary. Rollie and I have had the tools to replicate her antibodies, and we’ve been doing so onsite. But just like Ulrich with his livestock at Lab Two Fifty-Seven, we were conducting our animal testing—”
“Offsite, where her cells had lost their special properties.”
“Exactly. Or, in our onsite lab, deep within the bedrock. My theory is that the schist blocks whatever on the island influences her cells.”
Lily’s arms tingled. If he were right, a cure could be close. “Can’t you test that theory with her existing pathogens?”
“I’ll admit: my top priority is healing my mother.”
“I won’t ask her to inject the Lyme bacteria,” Lily said, shaking her head.
She reached for her coat and purse, and he came around the desk and touched her shoulder. Although the brotherly gesture had never bothered her before, her entire body tensed.
“Your reasons for wanting this puzzle solved are not as selfish as you think.”
Lily shifted out of reach, yet waited for him to continue.
“I know why you’ve been holding out on Finn.”
You are so wrong. She busied herself with putting on her jacket.
He slung his stethoscope over his shoulder. “You’ll make a great mom, regardless of whether your children come the old-fashioned way. If we can harness Cora’s immunities, you won’t have to worry about leaving them motherless.”
To cover her ears, she zipped her collar to the top. “I gotta get back to work.”
“Likewise.” He motioned for her to go first.
She hurried past him, and her stomach lurched at the antiseptic smell and polished floor of the corridor.
“Promise me one thing,” he said.
The glow of the fluorescent lights bounced off the metallic garland and ornaments hanging from the ceiling. She spotted the sign for the elevator and sped toward it.
His footsteps sounded behind her.
She jabbed the down button.
“There will come a time when you’ll question my loyalties.”
The elevator dinged, and she stepped inside and swiped at the panel.
“Please remember”—he reached to prevent the elevator from closing—“that I always put family first.”
The doors met; Lily was finally alone.
1966–1967
Invasive species begin their slow strangulation of the island
October 1966
he rock struck Cora’s finger instead of the nail. Ignoring the sting, she continued bolting the plywood to the two doors she’d taken from the nurses’ residence. Soon dawn would arrive, and with it enough light to chance the voyage she’d begun plotting seventeen months ago, the day after Kristian was born. Although she’d longed to believe that everything would be fine, trusting Ulrich was something she would never do.
A tugging on the cord tied to her waist shifted her attention to Kristian at its far end, playing among three cartons in the tall grass. By sunrise, their makeshift raft needed to be at the edge of the dock, with those provisions lashed to it.
He climbed atop one and clapped in self-praise.
“Good job!” To please Ulrich, she usually spoke to Kristian in her rudimentary German. But from now on, she vowed, her son would hear only English.
“Sehrrrrr groß.” He raised his arms above his head and wobbled. She tensed, ready to scoop him up in a hug if needed, but he regained his balance.
“Soooo big,” she translated and grabbed another nail.
“Mutti,” he whined, and she knew that in addition to wanting her, he was missing his blankie.
To create the impression that a patrol had picked her and Kristian up, she’d left it on the ferry dock near a US Coast Guard cap. Ulrich wouldn’t be fooled so quickly; she knew he would search Riverside. So she’d packed enough provisions for them to hide in the small forest on South Brother for three days. Hopefully, by then, Ulrich would have concluded that the coast guard had taken them. Any longer than that, even with sustenance, she wouldn’t have the strength for the return journey. Measles, typhus, smallpox, and typhoid fever hadn’t taken pity on the thousands of indigents sent to Riverside; they would show no kindness to a mother protecting her young son.
Kristian ran to her and pointed at the amalgamation of boards. “Boot. Im Wasser.”
Barely a toddler, he already loved the river as much as she detested it. “We’ll push the boat into the water as soon as Mommy’s done.”
A month ago, he’d ridden on one for the first time. Afterward, when Ulrich set him on the dock, he’d cried. Cora, who’d been pacing along the seawall, had rushed to him, expecting—hoping—to see fading symptoms of her illnesses. Instead, s
he’d learned that their perfectly healthy boy hadn’t wanted the excursion to end.
Kristian wedged himself between her and the raft.
Although she would love to cuddle him, there was much to do. She found a stick and set him in the grass. “Dig for night crawlers, my little bear,” she said, using the English version of her nickname for him for the first time. She tousled his blond hair and tried not to think about what would happen if her plan failed.
During Ulrich’s last visit, she’d overheard him telling Kristian that next time Vati came, Kristian would get to ride in a boat to the big city.
Naturally, the statement had meant nothing to the boy, but it had meant everything to her. Ulrich had said it while kicking a ball with him on a patch of lawn shielded from the river by the buildings. Grab your baby and run! her instincts had screamed. After Kristian’s fourth clean blood test, Ulrich had stopped wearing his containment suit around their child. Without the mask that usually concealed his face, it had become even more evident to Cora that he coveted the boy.
But she did so even more. Du bist mein Ein und Alles. You mean the world to me; you are my everything. Daily she repeated that simple German phrase to her son.
In the week since his pronouncement, she hadn’t wept once. There was no time for tears. Ulrich always visited on Tuesdays, when he wouldn’t be missed at Lab 257, so she knew he would return today.
She rose to drag the raft onto the dock, and Kristian toddled toward her, the knees of his corduroy trousers already dirty and his arms outstretched.
“Just a few more minutes.”
“Decke,” he whined. His hand, lost without the threadbare blanket usually in its clutch, fluttered along his side.
Unable to bear the preview of how he’d react to losing her, she pulled him close and lifted her shirt. He latched onto her breast, and she settled onto the ground. Although they could barely afford the delay, a full tummy should subdue him for the crossing, she decided.
His fingers traveled from scar to scar on her abdomen. Stroking his cheek, she marveled at the feel of his skin against hers and kissed his forehead. This was why she was about to risk both their lives. They belonged together.
And not with Ulrich. He would warp their son’s mind with his ideologies. She couldn’t let that happen.
Each night since Ulrich’s last visit, she’d stared at her sleeping baby, then at the Gotham skyline, second-guessing her decision to hide Kristian. Her son deserved a normal childhood. Why should her condition keep him from growing up in the greatest city on Earth? Each night she’d reached the same conclusion: with Ulrich he wouldn’t have a normal childhood.
Someday, when he was old enough to navigate his way back to her, she would help him become a true New Yorker. In the meantime, she would homeschool him, using the textbooks that had been left behind.
With Kristian cradled in her arms, she could no longer use busywork as a distraction from her fears. Today they both might die. If she became too sick to keep paddling, or the raft capsized in the chop, they would join the victims of the Slocum.
And then, she allowed her tears to fall.
Occasionally, nightmares of drowning still ripped her from sleep. Drenched in sweat, she would breathe into her palm, her old trick for proving it had been only a dream.
Hazarding that fate for Kristian seemed incredibly selfish, yet she couldn’t compel herself to hand him over to a monster.
If Ulrich did catch them, her punishment would stretch on for years. Kristian would go unharmed; he loved the boy. There was no risk to her son. She tried to hold back a sob and failed. Her fingers wove through the curls at the back of his head, and she brushed her lips across his cheek. “I love you, my little rascal.” Wishing this moment would never end, she pressed their bodies closer together.
He looked up at her, and the blue of his eyes matched the early light. Even though he didn’t say it, she knew he loved her, too, and needed her. The tears flowed faster.
His lips parted, and she shifted him to her other breast. Life since his birth had been profoundly joyful. The supplies from Ulrich had enabled her to focus on caring for Kristian, who’d grown into an adventurous toddler fascinated by sticks, bugs, and the ships that plowed past. Deep down, she’d known that the pretense of their happy little family couldn’t last, so she’d been squirreling rations. She and Kristian would need that food to survive through the winter and spring until the first harvest from the garden she intended to grow.
Apparently satiated, Kristian wriggled out of her arms. Normally he’d be drowsy by now, but the prospect of the journey, as well as her nervous energy, must have excited him.
“Stay.” She wagged her finger at him as she began dragging the raft.
He followed her onto the pier.
Sighing, she stopped her effort and picked him up before he could fall in. “Can you help Mommy move the boxes?”
He nodded, even though he couldn’t have fully understood her, and she set him in the grass. While he tried to catch a frog, she fastened the cartons to the wood with knotted bedsheet strips.
The sky was fading, and with it, their window of opportunity. She pulled an adult-size life preserver over Kristian’s head and used the last of the ties to secure it to him. Then she secured her son to her via a makeshift, braided cord.
“You ready?” she asked with forced enthusiasm.
“Ja. Boot. Im Wasser.” He ran onto the dock, swinging his arms.
Praying it wouldn’t be their last, she bent down for a hug, and he lunged away.
She commanded him to stay put, shoved the raft off the pier, and placed him in the empty triangular space at the center of the boxes. “Your special nest,” she said, thankful the phrase was similar in both languages. Since she couldn’t tie him in place, given the risk of capsizing, she would have to talk him into staying put. “Tweet, like a little birdie.” She flapped her arms.
“Tweet.” He mimicked the motion.
She made the sign of the cross, said a quick prayer, and eased onto the wood. Cold water rushed over her bare feet, and she adjusted her position to balance the platform. With a board that would serve as her paddle, she pushed them away from shore.
A current tugged the raft. Furiously, she paddled to redirect their course. The dark form of the smaller of the Brethren Islands was just visible across the channel. Babbling with delight, Kristian nudged between two of the boxes, and she barked at him to stay put. Miraculously, he listened to her.
Waves rocked the raft, and she struggled to keep it from tipping. The gusting wind sprayed her with saltwater, leaving a taste on her tongue that forced her mind back to 1907. The thought of those sharks momentarily paralyzed her. While it had been romantic to think they’d saved her, they instead might have been fixed on devouring her. She paddled harder.
Her muscles burned from the exertion, and her forehead felt equally hot. A chill coursed through her, and she knew the fever had begun. A burning itch told her that pustules were emerging across her skin. She glanced back and decided they were almost halfway.
Repeatedly, she dug the board into the tidal strait, slowing her rhythm only to check on Kristian, who was soaked, shivering, and sobbing. To soothe him, she sang, “Row, row, row your boat,” each word coming out hoarser than the last. Her throat felt like it had filled with silt, blocking the air from reaching her lungs. A coughing fit seized her, and she had to stop paddling until it subsided.
Kristian’s howling rose above the roars of the wind and the river.
“What have I done?” she wailed. Nausea and fatigue were spreading through her like a plague, and she fought the urge to give in to them. Even if their vessel reached the atoll, and she could stave off death for three days, she wouldn’t have the strength for the return.
Regret and doubt wouldn’t save her son. Only she could. First, reach the shore. Then worry about the rest, sh
e scolded herself.
Gritting her teeth, she jabbed the board into the water and pulled herself toward it, again and again.
Behind her, Kristian shrieked for her.
“Almost there.” She twisted to give him a reassuring smile and yelped in surprise. He was climbing over the cartons to reach her.
“Bleib in deinem Nest!” she yelled, harsher than she’d intended, for him to stay in his nest and he shrank back into a corner.
A current whipped them away from South Brother.
She paddled urgently, but it wasn’t enough.
Soon they would be swept into the worst chop of Hell Gate. Please, God.
The raft jerked, and she bobbled and almost fell overboard. Regaining her balance, she checked on Kristian, who was hugging his knees.
Something had hit them. The heavily trafficked river was thick with flotsam; it could have been anything.
A second impact from below sent her to her knees, and the river ripped away her makeshift paddle. She grabbed Kristian’s arm and clung to one of the tethered crates.
The platform pierced a whitecap, and the horizon tipped. She held on for both of their dear lives.
Frigid spray slapped her cheeks, momentarily cooling her fever.
The raft slid into a trough and abruptly slowed.
The chop dissipated, and her sense of balance returned. They’d escaped the current that had been pulling them toward the main channel.
Cora wiped the water from her eyes, gave Kristian a reassuring kiss, and looked for South Brother in the gaining light. Whatever had struck the raft had knocked them back on course. She scanned the surface for a pylon or other large piece of debris but saw nothing.
The wet skin on the back of her neck tingled, and she studied the water again, this time looking in vain for a shark fin.
Cora returned her attention to the tiny islet. Either through the assistance of luck or another force, they’d almost reached the beach.
The waves diminished, and the raft stabilized. The pebbly bottom, sloping upward to the rocky sand, appeared below them, and she whooped with relief.
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