I open my mouth to ask how Wesley knows Sam didn't tell me right away, but Wesley grins.
He knows me well enough to answer before I can even ask. “I knew he didn't tell you he saw me right away, or you'd have come to find me immediately.”
The truck hits another patch of bumps and I bounce in the seat like a rag doll.
“Watch the road, man. Seriously.” Job scowls.
“We're almost there,” Wesley says. “It's fine.” He turns his attention back to the road anyway, and I ignore his implied criticism of Sam. I won't talk about any of it right now, I can't.
Instead I ask, “Where's there?”
“You heard what they said about the suppressant failing back when I pretended to be you, right?” Rhonda asks.
I nod.
“Well it’s more widespread than I thought that day,” she says.
“No one in Port Gibson had heard anything about it,” Job says. “They should have heard right away when it happened, since we were the ones supplying it, but I hadn’t heard anything about it. It’s not something Mom would have kept from me.”
Wesley scowls. “Rafe says they left messages at the drop location, but I swear my dad never mentioned it either. How could none of us have known?”
Rhonda sighs. “Between six months and a year ago, it stopped working for sporadic groups of Marked kids, becoming progressively more widespread with time. Now that their bodies are actually. . . developing, well. There are uncontemplated ramifications.”
“I still don't know where we're going.” I glance out the window at the freeway. It looks like every stretch of land between Galveston and Port Gibson. We could be anywhere. Except I recall the number forty-five. We’ve got to be at least somewhat close to Galveston. I doubt I was out for very long.
“Sorry, it’s so easy to get sidetracked.” Wesley sighs. “When the suppressant failed, the hormones wore off. And as you can imagine, people who have loved each other for a while, well, things got complicated quickly.”
Job snorts. “We're making a stop at the Marked maternity ward that they set up out here. It's close to WPN because your crazy father was sending priests to perform weddings for them, the kids whose suppressants failed. A lot of them wanted to get married. That means Solomon knew the suppressant was failing, and that was probably why he came up with his plans to exterminate them.”
My jaw drops.
“Wait, her father?” Rhonda asks, at the same time Wesley says, “Hold on. Solomon is Ruby’s what?”
I sigh. “Turns out, Donovan Behl was married to my mom, but she left him for the leader of WPN before he was leader of anything. David Solomon stole my mom from Donovan Behl. He's a horrible person, and for all I know, Josephine may be too. She let me get kidnapped, possibly because she wasn't sure who my dad even was. Dad stole me from Josephine and David Solomon as they left the hospital, which sucks I guess, but after seeing Solomon, I kind of get why. I can’t even imagine being raised with him as my father.” I shudder.
“It's been a long few days,” Job says.
Understatement of the year.
“Ruby, can you tell us,” Job asks, “what exactly the journal said? Or at least, any details you can remember?”
Right. Because I passed out last time they asked.
“It was full of equations and notes, which I'm sure we could really have used.” I close my eyes. Focus on the journal, not what happened when we lost it. I breathe in and out a few times. “But once I skimmed past those, I found a passage that explained how Dad injected me with antibodies. He didn’t dose me with the hacker virus he wrote about before. I know we expected to find information about that, like how he developed it, or where his samples went, but that's not what I read about. The part I read talked about how my blood contains a cure of some kind.”
“It didn’t list the virus as the cure?” Job sounds disappointed.
He can join the club. I have my doubts about the antibodies curing everyone else. At least, from what I know of antibodies, it's going to be problematic. “I was hoping for more about that, too.”
Job turns back toward the road, as disappointed as me.
I lean forward, poking my head between Rhonda and Job. “My turn to ask a few questions. If Wesley was cured by my blood and he isn't Marked, why haven’t you used his blood to cure everyone else?”
Job sighs. “That's why I was hoping you saw something about the virus. Antibodies are great at preventing infection, but they aren’t a very effective cure. Occasionally they can, as they did in Wesley's case, stave off a brand new infection. Think of it like Tetanus. It's bacterial, but the idea is the same. A super shot of antibodies directly after infection might knock the virus out, but an injection once the virus has taken hold… well.”
Wesley's hands grip the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white. “To answer your question, we tried my blood. It didn't do anything, at least not that we could see.”
I lean back. “If my blood worked, yours should too. You'd have an active immunity, which should be stronger than mine, because mine's always been passive.”
I think about the journal entry. My dad said he injected me with a triple dose. Mine was strong, and Tercera was designed not to set off warning bells. Instead it spreads and lays dormant. I curse under my breath. “Dad mentioned a virus in the other journals, but in what I read, he said he was exposed to Triptych, his name for Tercera, and he injected the hacker virus in himself, but not in me. He wasn't sure what type of side effects to expect and wouldn't risk it on his daughter. I imagine he thought the antibodies wouldn't be as effective for him.” My stomach turns. We may not have a cure after all.
Rhonda taps the window. “For someone who doesn't speak science, can you tell me what exactly this means, like the Science 101 version?”
Job knows way more than I do, but I might be able to explain it more simply because of that. “Job can stop me if this is wrong, but essentially antibodies are little proteins that run around in our blood. They help boost our immune system. None of them respond to Tercera, because it's not perceived as a threat at first, not for a long time really. Dad created a monster virus with a huge incubation period. It lays dormant for quite some time so if it ever did get out, there would be plenty of time to treat any patients before symptoms hit. He spliced together pieces of lots of awful things, so he could create a vaccination to treat them all at once.”
“He made something bad to do something good?” Wesley asks.
“Exactly,” I say. “He wanted the virus to be passed by touch so he could use that same methodology to pass the vaccination by touch. He had almost finished his equal and opposite immunization when he died. I guess he'd made some of the opposite antibodies too, a sort of passive vaccination if you will, for Tercera. It was meant to work for any of the sub-viruses he used to create it as well. Essentially a vaccination for Tercera would keep you safe from Ebola, Varicella, Leprosy and on and on. You follow me so far?”
“Sort of,” Rhonda says.
Close enough. “Antibodies hunt for foreign proteins or chemicals and attach to them so they can destroy them. While researching Triptych, Dad happened upon a tiny little virus that attacked other viruses. One of his friends was trying to develop it into something that would eat cancer cells. But Dad took it and fostered mutation until it attacked other foreign viruses. In that way, it was even better than an aggressive antibody, and smarter too. The night before he got murdered,” I choke up a little, the image of my dad lying on the ground making my hands shake, “he was exposed to Tercera. His business partner came and they fought. I remember the shouting.”
“Wait,” Wesley says. “You were there?”
I close my eyes tightly. “I wish I could remember what his partner looked like.” I recall that they spoke a lot on the phone. Ever since Solomon told me that his partner, or someone else came back and finished my dad off, and knowing it might be total rubbish, I've been desperate to recall what the man looked like, but I can’t
think of any time I actually saw him.
“Do you remember anything?” Rhonda asks.
I shake my head. “I’m sure he must have met with him, and I must’ve seen him. I just can’t think of a single time it actually happened. Why can’t I recall anything about him?”
“Not to digress,” Job says, “but you said your dad was exposed to Tercera? Could that have been how it got out?”
I sigh. “No, I don't think so. According to the journal, he dosed me with antibodies after the exposure, but only after he dosed himself with the virus. His rash disappeared, and he limited any contact with me until he could verify that it worked. I guess there's no way to know much about its effectiveness since he died the next day. I doubt he infected anyone else, though. Especially since he had contact with David Solomon, who's obviously not infected, and I remember seeing him that last day. His forehead was clear.”
“So that's a bust.” Job swears this time.
“Dad did mention the only other live strains of the hacker virus. He said there were two, and that they were stolen by whomever stole Tercera, probably the partner I can't remember.”
“Ruby's blood is the closest thing we have to a cure, then?” Rhonda asks.
I sigh. “It looks that way. And I'm worried if Wesley's blood didn't work...”
Job groans. “Yours may only work on the recently infected or to prevent infection by the currently healthy.”
I slump in my seat. “Exactly.”
“Well,” Wesley says, “we have a recently infected baby, or we should quite soon. Her mother was in labor when we left the maternity ward to head for WPN. No time like the present to test out your theory.”
Wesley pulls up in the parking lot of a hospital and cuts the engine. “We're here.”
The sign out front looks surprisingly clean, its lettering recently painted. It reads: Mainland Medical Center. I do a double take when I notice there's an entire pasture full of cows next to the parking lot, which several kids seem to be shooing toward trailers.
“Cows?”
Wesley opens the door for me and whispers. “Most of the mothers die shortly after giving birth.”
The cows are so the babies can survive their mothers’ deaths? My eyes well up with tears. I wish I’d never even heard about this. “How exactly is seeing this firsthand going to bring me joy?”
“Follow me and I'll show you.” Wesley takes my hand to guide me out, and I yank my fingers away without thinking, pulling away from him as though his touch burns me. I may be immune to Tercera, but the feeling of his fingers reminds me of the hand I can't ever touch again. My knees weaken, but I breathe in and out deeply and force myself to stand up on my own two feet.
When I glance up at Wesley, his eyes are wounded, his spine stiff. “This way.”
Rhonda and Job climb out and follow us without speaking. We walk past two dozen cows, and the five kids trying their best to herd them into metal boxes on wheels. After we walk through the front door of the medical center, cries, whimpers and mews from babies accost me from all directions.
“How many newborns are there?” I ask.
Wesley shrugs. “Even before the suppressant failed, some people went off it voluntarily. It's depressing taking something that freezes your body as a child while your mind grows and ages. For some of them it became too depressing. This maternity ward has been here for a while. Most of the babies have been born in the last few weeks, but there've been babies here for years now, always accompanied by a sibling or friend who was still taking the suppressant. The friend would care for the baby after its birth.”
Wesley coughs, and I realize what he's thinking. For years, moms have died shortly after having a baby, while someone else cared for their children. That explains the existence of the starving young girl who exposed Wesley. But now without anyone on the suppressant, with it failing across the board, all these babies will be left without caretakers. I think back to the years after Tercera tore through America, and kids were all left with no parents, and no guardians to help them fill their needs.
The babies and young children will all starve to death.
The horror in my eyes matches the despair in his. “Unless you can cure them, they'll all die. They're hoping you'll cure the mothers and the fathers as well as the newborns, but even if you can't because of the advanced progression of the virus, if you can at least cure the babies, it’s something. Rafe’s hoping if the babies aren’t infected, the Unmarked might take them in.”
“And you already tried your blood?” I ask.
He nods his head solemnly. “It didn't work.”
I close my eyes to process what he's asking of me. If my triple strong blood can heal these babies, their parents will die with the hope that someone else might keep their children alive. I hate this virus down to the tips of my toenails.
“We need to find your mom,” I tell Job. “She might know how we could supercharge my antibodies enough to heal everyone.” I wish we still had that journal. I suppress the pang in my heart when I think about what else we lost.
“I agree,” Job says. “Mom's our best bet.”
“She's Marked.” I turn toward Wesley and Rhonda. “Do either of you know where she is?”
Wesley shrugs. “I haven't seen her, but Rafe doesn't tell me everything. We can ask him tomorrow.”
“We'll see him tomorrow?”
Wesley nods. “It's dark, so we'll sleep here tonight, but tomorrow the entire camp's evacuating. We can't let Solomon exterminate us, not now that we have hope. We're pulling back with as many cows as we can manage, and all the mothers and babies who are able to travel.”
“You tried your blood on Rafe too?” I ask Wesley.
He nods. “Duh.”
I sigh. “Just thought I'd check.”
Dozens of heads turn and stare when we walk down the hall, mouths opening, some gaping like fish, all with desperate eyes, all staring at my clear forehead. I notice one familiar face. The boy has dark hair falling in his face, and an angry red scar crossing one cheek.
I smile at him. “Hey Sean.”
He smiles and waves, and the whispers pick up. I hear the phrase. “Promised one,” and “Ruby” and “cure” over and over. I'm going to fail all of them just like I failed my dad and Sam. If this doesn't work, their wonder and their hope will turn to hatred, anger, and disgust.
I'll deserve it, too.
“Hey,” Wesley says. “Are you okay?”
Job and Rhonda turn toward me, and Wesley waves them forward. “Go and see if Libby's ready for us.”
Rhonda hugs me tightly, and Job squeezes my hand, but they leave like Wesley asked.
I don't need a pep talk, so I need to head this off at the pass. “I'm fine. I'm sorry. I just-” I can't explain it to Wesley. He won't understand, because he's always thought the best of me. He won't blame me, even when things really are my fault.
“I want you to know how sorry I am about what happened to Sam today on the bridge. I know you've been friends for a long time. Losing people who are close to us is always awful. Believe me, I’ve become an expert on that in the last few weeks. Even more than before.” He reaches for my hand again.
This time I pull my hand away intentionally and shake my head to drive it home. “Don't Wesley, please.”
“Rubes,” he says softly, “I'm not Marked, and even if I was, you can't be infected.”
I spin around and stare at him. He needs to understand all of it, exactly what’s between us now. “It's not that, Wesley. When you left I was devastated, and I felt so guilty that I was fine and you were Marked.”
“I was relieved when you didn't come,” he says. “Honest, I was. A little lonely, but so relieved that I hadn't doomed you. You don't need to feel guilty at all.”
I shake my head. “It's not that either. Let me finish. I read my dad's journal while I was in quarantine and discovered he created Tercera. I knew I had to go for the cure, but it was in Galveston. My aunt and uncle refused to take
me, and I didn’t think Rhonda and Job would help either. Actually, they’d already left without me, although I didn’t know that yet. I was all alone, and I had no one to help me track down my dad's lab. Until I convinced Sam to help.” I hold his eyes until he understands the subtext. Sam and I set out as friends, but we became more. I'm not mourning a family friend, I'm mourning family. The only family I really had left, or maybe the only family I ever had.
“Oh.” Wesley's face closes off, his eyes wounded, his mouth pressed into a firm line.
A huge lump rises in my throat and I can barely breathe, let alone talk, but I need to say the words. Wesley has to understand. Somehow now that it comes to it, subtext isn't enough, not for Sam, not to convey what I’m feeling. Wesley means a lot to me, and he deserves to know. “Sam wasn’t perfect, and it was brand new between us, but somehow on that trip, I fell in love with him.”
“Wow. Well, I guess I'm really, really sorry for your loss, then.” He looks at the ground and kicks at a chipped tile. His eyes flash and his fists clench. He opens his mouth to say something, but I don't want to hear it, not now.
“I can't deal with your teenage angst, okay? Not right now.” I brush past him and through the door Job and Rhonda opened earlier. I know I'm not being fair to Wesley. He has feelings too, and he had no idea how things changed between me and Sam. He wasn't there to see it, or understand what happened. I know he's confused and his feelings for me haven't changed. The worst part of all of this is that Wesley's expectations are being crushed through no fault of his own.
In fact, he's probably processing the fact that Sam's gone, and thinking maybe if he's patient, I'll eventually get over Sam. I wonder whether he's thinking about how long it might take before things can go back to normal for me and him. If so, he's wrong.
Things will never go back to normal for me.
I look up from my inner turmoil and into the face of a worried mother. Mothers should be older than me, and wiser than me. They shouldn't, aside from more pronounced curves, look exactly like me. The suppressant clearly isn't a great way to live, in stasis, no progress. But it kept them alive.
Sins of Our Ancestors Boxed Set Page 29