She knew she would be safer if she could get off the island, but she could not risk a plane, and she assumed they would be watching the ferry. In a bigger city it might have been possible to disappear by losing herself in the suburbs, but that was not going to work here. So sticking to back streets she wound her way towards the interchange, where she bought a ticket on the first bus out of the city.
A few hours later she stepped out in the main street of a small town. Again she rented a motel room, then set about looking for a place to live. As she stood staring at her reflection in the window of the real-estate agent she realised there was no way they would rent her a house without ID or references, neither of which she could risk using. So, she pushed Eve in her pram a few doors up to survey the noticeboard mounted outside the supermarket. There, among the cards advertising lawn-mowing and guitar lessons, she found what she needed.
She called the number on the card from the phone box out by the road; a man answered, and an hour later she stood waiting for him in the driveway of a house on the outskirts of town. He was retired, a former overseer from one of the timber mills; the house had been his late sister’s until her death a few years before. It was small, largely unfurnished, its bare rooms and empty kitchen stark. But it was isolated from the town and hidden from the road by a stand of trees. The bond and the first month’s rent made an alarming dent in her cash, but once he was gone she knew she had done the right thing, that they would be safe here.
Over the weeks that followed she acquired things they needed, picking up a mattress from a cheap store in town, blankets from the charity shop in the same complex, a television left beside the road; none have been enough to make the house feel homely, or even lived in, but in the time they have been here she has remembered how little she cares about comfort.
She has been surprised how little she misses the constant connection of her former life. No phone without ID, no internet either, no credit cards or bank accounts or electricity or gas. Yet she has also begun to realise that it is possible to live without any of it, to make do. Her electricity is covered by her landlord, she has no need for a phone, and though print newspapers are now almost non-existent, she does not feel isolated by the lack of access to the outside world; quite the opposite, in fact.
More importantly, though, she sees now just how surveilled our lives are. It is not a new awareness – she has never really been comfortable with the constant intrusion of technology, the ways in which the self is performed and curated online – yet simultaneously it has only been these past weeks that it has become clear how entirely these systems entrap us, ensuring we are monitored, assessed, used. Suddenly outside them, she does not feel reduced or lonely, but somehow freer, more alive, more aware, her attention not constantly flicking between screen and world. Sometimes she wonders whether she is also relieved to be away from the constant cataloguing of crisis as well, the drumbeat of disaster and atrocity that has suffused her existence for so long. And while in part of herself she knows she cannot outrun reality forever, there are times when it seems possible to forget about it, quiet moments when she can feel herself expand, her awareness spreading out into the fading sky, the cries of the birds, the shifting wind.
Still, it is a fragile freedom, encircled by fear and doubt. About money, about the constant risk of discovery. About the knowledge of what her choices have cost Eve already, what they may yet cost her in the future.
In the days that follow she alters her routines, avoiding the park, walking a different path. Once she thinks she glimpses a woman watching them in the supermarket. Lifting an arm to draw Eve close, she abandons her shopping and makes for the street, head down, not looking back as she hurries back towards the house.
That afternoon, she decides they have no choice: they must move. Yet how, and where? Her money is almost gone, and she has no way to replenish it. And though the bus continues on, up the road, there is no guarantee she could find them another place to live.
Finally she decides to at least look, and gathering their things, she pushes the pram the kilometre to the bus stop to wait for the morning bus. The day is hot, still, and as the bus winds through the hills she holds Eve up so she can stare out at the passing countryside. All summer there have been fires to the north and west, some sparked by the lightning that rumbles across the landscape, others by humans, the smoke hanging in the air, turning the sunsets blood red, lining her throat. Some mornings she has woken to the yard carpeted in ash, the almost weightless remains of trees that took decades or even centuries to grow, an entire ecosystem reduced to floating flakes.
Only a fortnight ago the fires burned through these valleys not far from the town, running fast up the slopes: for two days smoke hung heavily and fire trucks rattled through the town. Eventually the wind shifted, and the fires marched away again, but looking out at the blackened stumps and ruined earth Kate realises how close the flames came.
Eve falls asleep just before they pull into their destination; as Kate clambers out she wakes and begins to fret. Outside, a wind has come up, blowing fitfully through the trees, and Kate smells ashes. The town is tiny, even smaller than the one she has come to think of as her own. The bus stop is beside a park; on its far side behind a pair of trees a church stands, its sandstone structure stained but still handsome; on the opposite side of the street a general store occupies another sandstone building, beyond which a pair of older buildings house a pub and a takeaway.
She knows at once it is no good. The town is too small, too exposed, the countryside around it too bare. She could not survive here. Against her chest Eve is struggling, growling and complaining fitfully.
The bus back runs twice a day, which means she has four hours to kill with a hot, disgruntled baby. She has food in her bag, but after heading up the main street, there is nothing more to see. She winds their way back towards the church and the park. Eve is finally asleep, so when she reaches the church she crosses to it and steps inside. The interior is grander than she had expected, a timbered roof soaring over pale sandstone walls. Taking a seat, she gazes around, observing the stained-glass windows, the altar, the organ nestled on one side. Cheap red carpet has been laid on the floor, but its artificial hue cannot detract from the elegance of the space as a whole.
She passes the afternoon in the church and seated in the graveyard by its side, watching while Eve stares up at the leaves of the tree. When the bus returns they board, and on the ride back Eve is distracted and cranky. For a time Kate worries that Eve has picked up on her agitation, her concern that they are in danger, and that night Eve will not settle, struggling and fighting in Kate’s arms, pushing the bottle away. When Kate puts her down Eve stretches out, rigid, refusing her touch. More rattled than she would like to admit, Kate lies next to her, allows herself to slip into sleep.
Just after midnight she is woken by the sound of Eve wheezing. She reaches out to touch her cheek. Eve flinches away. Her skin is hot, and she begins to cry, the sound fitful, raspy. Switching the light on, Kate attempts to calm her. Although her face is contorted and she is crying, Eve is not awake; instead she writhes and shivers, her eyes closed, as if dreaming whatever afflicts her.
Something cold twists in Kate’s gut. Throughout the process of Eve’s creation they worried about her being exposed to viruses and other infections her body was not evolved to resist. Some had been possible to anticipate and so are coded into her DNA, and she is shielded from others by the transfer of Marija’s microbiome during pregnancy and the battery of vaccinations she was given in her first weeks. But it is impossible to know whether there might be other potentially deadly diseases they have overlooked. So, while this may be simply a childhood infection, it might well be more than that, something her body is unequipped to fight.
Kate rattles through the basket of baby paraphernalia, finally closing her hand around the box containing the thermometer. She fumbles with the packaging, shaking it loose as she stares at the device, trying to understand how it works. Finally sh
e finds the switch, and lifting Eve’s arm holds it underneath: 39.2 degrees. She sits for several seconds, staring at the readout. Eve’s normal temperature is 36.5, slightly lower than that of a sapient child, which means this is even higher than it would be were she a sapient. Yet what does that mean? Touching Eve’s cheek again, Kate feels the heat radiating from her tiny body.
Gingerly she picks Eve up and rocks her from side to side, singing softly in an effort to comfort her. Outside it is windy, the house creaking. Earlier there were clouds on the horizon, a suggestion of rain, but it has not arrived.
Still cradling Eve in one arm she mixes a bottle of formula, presses the teat to Eve’s lips, but she twists away, one hand raised to swat at the bottle.
In the cupboard she has drugs – ibuprofen and paracetamol – both of which she believes Eve should be able to take without ill-effect. But as she takes down the bottle of ibuprofen she realises she is frightened to use it. What if Eve’s system is so compromised it harms her?
She stares at the bottle clutched in her hand. Then, before she can change her mind, she kneels beside Eve and, stroking her forehead, drips the liquid into her mouth.
Eve wrenches away from her, and coughs and splutters, then lets out a piercing wail. Kate closes her eyes, trying to block it out. Eve’s cries go on and on, but finally she seems to succumb to exhaustion, her wails giving way to raspy snuffles and twitches. Careful not to disturb her, Kate climbs onto the mattress and arranges herself beside her, her hand on Eve’s belly as Eve pants and whimpers.
The night passes, an ocean of time. By four it is clear that Eve is not getting better. Her fever has not subsided, and she seems to be drifting in and out of awareness of her surroundings.
It is unbearable, the waiting, made worse by Kate’s own exhaustion. Finally, just after seven, she decides she can wait no longer, and after checking to make sure Eve is dozing, she pulls on her shoes and hurries to the door.
It is fifteen minutes’ walk to the house Yassamin pointed out, but Kate makes it in five, running hard. At the gate she pauses, worried she may be making a mistake, but the thought of Eve alone back in the house pushes her on, and she hurries up the small path, barely taking in the plastic toys discarded by the entrance.
She knocks, first once, then again and again, until finally a light comes on and a shape appears behind the glass.
‘Who is it?’ Kate recognises the voice.
‘My name is Kate. We met in the park the other day,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry to turn up like this, but I need your help.’
There is a moment’s silence. Then the door opens to reveal Yassamin, a blue gown wrapped around her body, her dark hair pulled back.
‘I’m sorry,’ Kate says, aware she is repeating herself. ‘But Eve, she’s sick, and I’m on my own.’
Again there is silence.
‘I wondered, could you come over? Just for a few minutes. I don’t know what to do.’
Still Yassamin does not answer. A child gives a wordless cry in the background. ‘Is it something infectious?’
‘I don’t know,’ says Kate. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Sami is awake. I will have to bring him.’
‘Of course,’ Kate says.
Yassamin nods. ‘Wait here.’
‘Thank you,’ Kate says. ‘Thank you.’
A few minutes later Yassamin reappears, a dark-haired child in her arms. ‘The heat,’ Yassamin says. ‘He cannot sleep.’
Kate nods. The boy stares at Kate. He is taller and older than Eve, his dark hair and eyes lending him an almost feminine beauty.
They hurry down the road to Kate’s house. When they enter, Eve is silent. Yassamin looks around as Kate leads her through the house, and Kate sees her take in the bare walls and spartan furniture, the scattering of baby books and the play mat on the floor.
Eve is on her back dozing when they enter, her face and head twitching intermittently. Yassamin passes Sami to Kate, then touches Eve’s forehead.
‘She’s so hot. Have you taken her temperature?’
Kate nods. ‘It’s 39.3.’
‘Is it going up or down?’
‘Up.’
‘You should take her to the doctor.’
Kate looks uneasy. ‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
Kate shakes her head. ‘I just can’t.’
Yassamin stares at her, then at Eve. Finally something shifts in her expression.
‘Then we must give her medicine here. Something to bring the fever down.’
Kate shakes her head again. ‘I tried.’
‘Then you must try again.’
Kate nods, angry at herself for needing Yassamin’s permission. Eve shakes and spits out the new round of medicine, but Kate scoops her up, cradles her in her arms.
‘Now we wait,’ Yassamin says.
Over the next hour Eve worries and cries, but she seems more alert, more herself. Finally she closes her eyes and falls asleep, her breathing rough but even, almost normal. Back in the kitchen Eve finds Yassamin watching as Sami totters about.
‘She is sleeping?’ Yassamin asks, and Kate nods.
‘Yes. Thank you.’
‘Why did you not want to take her to a doctor?’
Kate draws a chair back and sits down. ‘It’s a long story.’
‘And there is nobody else who could help?’
Kate shakes her head.
Yassamin regards her carefully, her black eyes thoughtful. ‘Is somebody looking for her?’
Kate nods. ‘Yes.’
‘And you are afraid of them?’
‘I’m afraid I’ll lose her.’
Yassamin looks at Kate for a long time. Finally she nods. ‘Sami is hungry. I need to take him home. You should sleep.’
‘Yes,’ Kate says. ‘And thank you.’
Yassamin nods, watching her. ‘You should not be alone, Kate,’ she says, but Kate doesn’t reply.
When Yassamin has left Kate returns to the bedroom and lies next to Eve. Once again she strokes her hair, wondering at the force of life that moves in her tiny form, the force of love within herself.
She is woken in the early afternoon by Eve’s laughter. She sits up. Eve smiles at her. Kate smiles back and reaching out, touches her forehead. It is cool, her fever gone. Eve grabs for Kate’s hand and pulls on her fingers, her tiny hands closing over them one by one. Delighted, Kate resists and then succumbs, while Eve gurgles with bashful delight.
Kate is astonished by the rapidity of her recovery, the way the illness seems to have washed through her and away, leaving no trace. Yet while Eve seems unscathed by her fever Kate is not, the terror of the night just passed underlining the enormity of the risk she has taken with Eve’s safety. She feels chastened – no, not chastened, ashamed – of her precipitousness, the negligence of placing Eve at risk in this way.
Nor does the feeling pass. Later in the afternoon as they sit on the grass at the back of the house, Eve rolls over and grasps Kate’s finger, her eyes meeting Kate’s for a long moment, her trusting face full of the shy affection Kate loves in her and, without warning, Kate’s eyes fill with tears.
The next morning she walks to town and examines the noticeboard. There are ads from people looking for labouring and cleaning work, as well as notices advertising services such as tree-lopping and roofing. But nobody offering employment. Eve gurgles in her arms as Kate stares at the board, her mind casting back through memory, to days when she waited while her mother searched a similar board, the way she muttered to herself, then berated Kate for people not caring, not being prepared to understand how difficult things were for her. Closing her eyes, Kate leans forward and braces herself against the board.
Eve coos, and Kate shifts to rest her face gently on Eve’s head, the scent of the thick, coarse hair warm and sweet. Finally she steps back and scans the board again. This time she notices an A4 sheet advertising an old computer for sale. She stares at it for a few seconds, then tears a number from the fringe of t
hem at the bottom of the page, then walks through the arcade towards the payphone at its end.
The owner lives outside town, but within a few minutes she has bargained him down to $200 and arranged to meet him in the car park an hour later. As she hands over the money she feels a shiver, aware how little this leaves her. Outside the cafe she boots it up, logs onto their wireless. She knows she must take care, so she finds a free VPN service and sets up an email account under a false name. That done, she begins to sift through various websites, searching for something she can do.
She bypasses the usual scams – work from home and make $700 a week, $1000 a week, $5000 a week – one by one, searching for something real. Eventually she finds somebody looking for help proofing their thesis. The money is pitiful, but it is work she can do without leaving the house, or – she hopes – identifying herself. She creates a profile under her new name and submits a bid for the job, making sure her credentials are worded in a way that prevents them being easily identified, and before she has time to stop herself, hits send.
When she returns to the cafe the next morning she has a reply: the student is interested, but anxious to clarify a few points about why she is looking for the work. She tells them she has had a baby, is looking for some supplementary income. A few minutes later Kate has the job.
The work, when it comes, is more difficult than she had imagined: the student’s prose is terrible, resistant to anything other than wholesale rewriting in many places, but over the next few days she does what she can, working in small bursts in the evenings and while Eve sleeps, and sends it back, appending a series of comments and suggestions. A few hours later the fee is released into the electronic wallet she has set up. She assumes that is the end of it, but two days later she receives a message from the student thanking her for her work.
Ghost Species Page 8