by Ann Christy
“Thank you,” I say, taking the rags from him.
He nods toward Emily and asks, “You sure you don’t want me to help?”
I shake my head and wipe the warm, wet cloth across Emily’s cheek. “No. This is for me to do.”
He rests his hand on my shoulder for a moment, then squeezes quickly and lets me go. At the cage door he says, “I’ll not look, but I have to keep watch.”
“I understand,” I say, not looking away from Emily. She hasn’t been this quiet and peaceful since she turned.
The cage door clangs as it shuts behind him and I feel very surrounded all of the sudden. The breathing of so many in-betweeners—people maybe—makes it feel small and close inside the cage. I shake my head to banish the creepy feeling and undo the tie on Emily’s smock. She should wake up clean, without evidence of what’s happened all over her.
And if she wakes up like Luke? Or Tanner?
I can’t think about that. I don’t want to anyway, but the same thought keeps popping up in my head. Then she’ll already be clean when she dies. She’ll be ready for her shroud.
“That won’t happen,” I whisper to her and bend to my task.
*****
A storm breaks during the long night that follows. The wind is fierce and I swear the raindrops are hitting so hard they sound like hail. The sound of the thunder reverberates in the space, making it even worse. I lay just outside the cage. It’s as close as I can get to Emily, but there’s really no reason for it. I just can’t go.
Charlie is cuddled up next to me, fast asleep even though the storm sounds like the end of the world. Like everyone, he’s exhausted. Violet, now back from watching over Gloria and the kids, is standing watch. The ones who went with them are no less tired—having had to take turns on watch in an unfamiliar location with less favorable sightlines—but she’s wide awake now and watching everything like a hawk. I confess that I feel comforted by her presence.
I keep thinking of what Princeton told me he thinks goes on while they’re like this. He said that in the hospital, everyone that could understand them read all the books they had on brains and neurology—plus they listened to Doctor Reed. He said that the nanites work to suppress our more advanced brain activity, but enhance the more primitive parts, which I buy entirely.
He thinks that during this sleep, the balance is being redressed, neural connections firing once again in places like the speech centers and where we control our impulses from. He’s convinced—as are the rest of us purely through observation—that there are real physical changes in people who become in-betweeners. Their ability to smell is certainly enhanced.
We’re all wondering how long that will remain. Luke still had it when he died and Melody still does as well. Right now, things are firing like a machine gun inside Emily’s brain, but how can I know if they’re firing in the right direction? Or are they firing wrong, creating another Tanner? There’ simply no way to know and that’s why I’m awake.
I’d like to sleep. I need to, but I can’t help but think something will happen the moment I do. Whether it’s a good thing or a bad one doesn’t matter, only that something will happen and I will miss out on either welcoming Emily back or saying goodbye to her.
When I sigh, Violet’s steps pause. In a low voice, she says, “Go to sleep, Veronica. I’ll wake you if anything happens.”
I know she will, but it’s still hard to let go. With a deep breath, I do the only thing left to me. I count sheep.
Today – Making Room
Four of them have awoken, two in a good way and two not. The two who aren’t doing well will be given time, in hopes that they improve, but I don’t think they’ll need the time. One of them seems terrified and is in agony from whatever terrors he’s facing. The other is seizing every hour or so, hard seizures that bow his back against his chains and make it look like he’ll break his bones.
The two that are coherent and at least marginally aware of what’s going on are frightened, but Melody knows them and has been at their sides since they woke, soothing them and explaining everything she can.
One thing is for sure. Whether they are doing well or poorly, they are human as far as we can tell. They can talk, two ate the oatmeal Melody spooned into their mouths, and they are logical in a way that in-betweeners aren’t.
The others, including Emily, are still sleeping. A few of them now have red stickers on their foreheads, indicating that something isn’t going right and that they have to be checked more frequently. Some aren’t breathing properly, others are sweating and hot in a way that isn’t normal, and one is vomiting in his sleep. We had to loosen his chains and roll him to his side so he didn’t choke, but his face is pale and his vomit now tinged with bright streaks of blood. I don’t hold out much hope for him.
The storm last night washed away the last of the heat and the day is beautiful, with a hint of coolness in the sun-warmed breeze that tells me fall is truly here. It’s fitting that the change in seasons should happen now. Let the rains wash away the blood, the bones, the ashes, and all the rest. Let winter come and pull the evidence of this world into the ground so that in the spring, we can have flowers and grass.
And kudzu. Can’t forget the kudzu.
As those of us on duty bend to tend the sleeping people, then step forward only to bend again at the next, I’m not forgetting all the work ahead and looking only on the bright side. There’s a lot that will have to be done. All of these people will need help. Physically, mentally, emotionally. The damage isn’t going to magically disappear. But winter is a good time for staying indoors, for talking and helping. We can do this. I know it.
Behind me, I hear Savannah’s voice rise and she says, “Hey. Hey. You’re safe now. I’m here to help you. Can you tell me your name?”
I pivot where I’m crouched so I can see. She’s smiling down at someone, her hand smoothing their forehead. I hear a scratchy voice say, “Margaret.”
Savannah looks up at me and smiles. Another good one.
I turn back to my patient, a young girl with the most beautiful skin I’ve ever seen now that the blood and dirt are gone. Her cheeks are rounded and her lips as pink as can be. She looks healthy, even though just a few days ago she was just another skinny, underfed in-betweener locked inside a compound without food. The nanites may be leaving her, but they are leaving her in good condition.
After I’m done dripping water into her mouth with an eyedropper, just a few drops at a time until she swallows, I move on to the next one so I can do the same again.
*****
Just as I suspected, Emily wakes when I’m not there. In fact, I had to leave and go to the bathroom, so it’s doubly infuriating. I held it as long as I could because her eyes were moving under her lids—a sure sign of an upcoming waking—but eventually, I had to run or pee my pants.
So, of course she opened her eyes then. Of course.
When I run back into the warehouse, Tom standing at the door and yelling for me to hurry, I’ve barely gotten my pants zipped and I’m cursing in a way that would make Gloria smack me with a spoon. Tom follows and keeps saying, “She’s good. She’s good.”
Gregory whips open the cage door as I careen toward him and I almost step on a sleeper as I hop between desks at high speed. Charlie is leaning over Emily’s desk, his back hunched and tense.
“I’m here! I’m here!” I shout. He leans back to make room for me wearing a huge grin on his face.
I drop to my knees painfully next to her desktop and finally see her. She’s got tears running down the sides of her face and her lips are shaking. Her hand strains upward against her chains when she sees me and I take it in both of mine, holding it tight and feeling that human squeeze in return. There is nothing but joy in my heart at the sight of her tears.
“Emily!” I say, leaning close to her. “Tell me you’re here with me.”
“Here,” she says, her voice scratchy.
“Her throat is dry. Get some water,” I say to Charlie, s
cooting closer to her as his leaving makes space.
“Can you tell me your name?” I ask, my voice shaky from crying. I’ve been saying her name so that may be a stupid question, but I have to ask it.
“Emily. I’m Emily,” she says, then her face crumples and she starts crying, her eyes squeezing shut.
“Shh, I’m right here. It’s all okay now,” I say, soothing her as best I can with words.
Her eyes open again and she tries to shake her head, not moving much against the strap across her forehead. “I’m sorry. What I did. What I did!”
She breaks down again in tears and all I want to do is loosen her bonds and hold her. I look to Violet, who is standing on the other side of the cage, a gun held casually in her hand. She shakes her head and I look back at Emily. I can’t let her loose, but I can move just fine.
Before anyone can stop me, I lean down and hug her as best I can around her bonds. I whisper in her ear that it will all be okay, that it’s all over, that she’s safe, and that she saved us with her actions. I feel Savannah’s sharp fingers trying to pull me off, but Charlie says, “Let them be. Can’t you see that’s Emily?”
Even if he turns into a total prick tomorrow and stays that way, I’ll love him forever for those words. He can see it. He can see that it’s Emily.
Epilogue One – A Winter to Remember
As of this morning, we are thirty-four in number. Even now, I can hear the sound of the baby’s cry in my ears as she lustily took in her first few breaths, shocked at the cool air and her fists clenched tight.
Her name isn’t decided, but Gloria is still trending toward Joy, which is perfect. We have no way of knowing the date exactly, but this is the day we set aside for Christmas. And we did that more than a month ago, so it’s not like we’re cheating. Based on the length of the day, it’s probably really late January, but hey, we can have Christmas when we want. Who’s going to tell us we’re wrong?
They’re both fine, as far as we can tell. We didn’t give Gloria her shot because of the pregnancy, but now that she’s been delivered, we will. As for the baby, Princeton is studying up as much as he can, but we just don’t know if it’s safe. He and Savannah studied all those unfortunates who didn’t make it through their transition, but nothing except for giving her the dose will finally tell us if it’s safe for infants. For now, we’ll hold off.
Jon races past me, Maribelle squealing as she chases him. I call out for them to be quiet, but they lower their output no more than a decibel or two. It’s a holiday and they’re happy. Gloria is asleep in the home warehouse, tucked up in the office we’ve arranged just for her and the baby, so they can’t be bothering her. Laura plops down next to me and asks, “What are you doing?”
“I’m packing food for Emily,” I say, smiling at her.
She must notice that my smile is a little fake because she hugs me, tucking her head under my arm so I’ll have to hold her. Neither of her parents made it back here, though whether they were lost at the compound or during the military fight we don’t know. All we know is that she’s alone now. So, she sort of belongs to everyone. Two of her neighbors who managed the transition well are her almost-official parents, but what does that really mean when you’re a community like ours?
“She has to go,” Laura says, wise beyond her years.
I sigh and say, “I know.”
I stop my packing—which I sort of have to since I’ve now got one arm around Laura—and look out of the warehouse door at the front field. Emily and those who have turned out like her are clustered in the brittle remains of the grass. The area they prefer is trampled down, creating a deep mat of brown stems that they seem to use as a living area. I sigh again, and I see her turn her head, looking my direction. She doesn’t wave and her face turns back toward the road beyond the fence before long.
“She can’t help it,” Laura says, still a defender even when she doesn’t have to be.
“I know, honey.” I kiss the top of her head and pat her hip. “Why don’t you go play and let me finish this? They’ll be going soon, so I want to make sure I have everything.”
She scrambles up, plants a wet kiss on my cheek, and takes off. She’s at full speed before I even pick up the sack again. It’s hard to pack for Emily. She won’t often eat cooked food and even when she does, it has to be plainly cooked. Simple charred meat or unsweetened oatmeal or boiled potatoes. And she’ll only eat what her body tells her she needs. It’s the same for all of them to some extent, even Melody, though to a much lesser degree.
For the ones like Emily, the ones who crave the outdoors and seem to understand the natural world in a way humans generally can’t, it’s much harder. I pack a few onions, a bunch of carrots, greens from the garden, and a few of the big celery root bulbs. She does like corn mash, and after finding the sacks of dried corn at the military compound, we’ve had plenty of that. I lean over and pluck a couple of smaller bags of dried corn from a bin and stuff those into the sack as well.
I never know how long she’ll be gone, but I don’t feel right without packing something for her. Once that’s done, I do the same for Matt. He’s like her. He’s still funny and quick and fierce, but he’s like her in that he goes tense and quiet when he’s forced indoors by the weather. Most nights, he and Emily make a nest in the field, snuggling up and sleeping as if the world were just fine as it is. For them, it probably is.
Charlie comes in with clothes draped over his arm and coats bundled in the other. He drops them at my feet and says, “They’ve got to take more with them.”
I only nod and start sorting the items by size, rehearsing in my head how I’ll get her to wear them. They feel cold and hot like we do, but they huddle up, making nests out of greenery or fallen leaves when they get too cold. It’s not safe. They say too many clothes messes with their ability to smell and makes them stink.
I would argue that tramping around in the woods all the time is what makes them stink, but then again, I’m merely human.
“I wish they wouldn’t leave today. It’s Christmas,” I say, patting the space next to me so he’ll sit.
He does, giving a little eep when his butt hits the cold concrete that makes me laugh.
Charlie tucks my hair behind my ear and says, “It’s because it’s Christmas. All that cooking and noise. You can’t hold that against them. They can’t help that their noses are so sensitive.”
“I know,” I sigh and drop the last coat into the pile.
She looks restless out there, even though she’s standing still. I’m getting to understand her new body language better every day. While I watch, Matt comes running up on the group. They know it’s him, so no one jumps or startles when he grabs Emily around the waist from behind and swings her around in a circle. She laughs as he swings her, her hands on his arms and her face to the sky.
“At least they still have that,” Charlie says. He’s smiling at them. I am too.
“Yeah. That they do,” I say. Then I lean my head on his shoulder to watch this new species of human play in the field.
*****
“So, you know where you’re going?” I ask Emily as I help her put on her backpack. She doesn’t like being encumbered, but she’s not stupid. They need their weapons, some tools, and other things they have to carry. And yes, food.
She sniffs at the coat, her nostrils flaring and her lips curling back. I’ve almost gotten used to that thing they do. We’ve examined them, and all of the ones like her have a distinct pale spot on the roofs of their mouths, the flesh there a little thicker than elsewhere.
Princeton and Savannah are convinced it’s the same thing that cats have and that their reaction is truly a Flehmen response. They do it to different extents. One of the men has it so severely that he grimaces horribly and sticks his tongue out. He can’t help it. It just happens. Why the nanites caused that to develop—or develop further—is just another mystery.
Emily starts pulling at the collar of her coat and I put my hands over hers, still
ing them. “Wear it. It’s winter. It will get a lot colder than you can fix with some dead leaves. And there aren’t as many trees full of leaves anyway. Please wear it. For me?”
She huffs, but says, “Fine. I’ll wear it and stink like a bear.”
I laugh because I doubt she has any idea what a bear actually smells like.
“Onions?” she asks, getting a whiff of the food sack I stuffed into her backpack.
“Yes. Onions. You like onions. And anyway, you need to take some food because again, it’s winter. There’s not enough out there for you to dig up and eat. Don’t be silly. You know this.”
She takes a deep breath, her eyes heavenward for a moment, then smiles at me patiently. She says, “I can find food. It’s everywhere.”
At my reaction she adds, “And not meat either.”
I nod, feeling a little guilty. They actually don’t eat meat, or anything else, for pleasure. But when they do hunt, they are implacable and will eat as much as they can hold. They do build fires to cook meat, mostly because they can smell parasites and diseases in the animals, but watching them do it is pretty weird and frightening. They’re so focused on it. It reminds me of what they were.
Emily pulls me into a hug and then leans back to kiss me on my face, as in all over my face. It’s weird, but that’s another thing they do. They kiss everyone. This many kisses means she loves me a lot, though, so I’m special.
She pushes me away then and reaches for Charlie. I laugh when he squints his eyes shut in preparation for his own kissing onslaught. That’s apparently the signal that everyone should go and kiss whoever they’re kissing goodbye. Charlie yells toward the warehouse, “Kiss attack incoming!”
I hear a loud groan from inside and laugh. The others will come say their goodbyes, but it’s often hard to know exactly when they’ll leave and a bunch of people have been caught off-guard.
It’s another hour before they make their way to the gate. Charlie and I follow along to open and close the gate for them, but really, they could do that for themselves. I just want to talk to Emily for as long as I can. Gregory and Matt are walking together, arms around each other’s shoulders and laughing as they go.