I didn’t say anything. She sighed, collecting herself.
‘I understand she was your sister, Callie. And that you lost your father a few years ago. But that doesn’t change anything. We’re in a war, and the rules aren’t there to help individuals, they’re there to protect all of us.’
‘Except the Changed.’
‘Let me ask you a question. Have you ever seen somebody who’s Changed? Ever spoken to them?’
She paused briefly, as if to give me time to answer.
‘You haven’t. And that’s because you can’t. Once they’re Changed they’re gone, Callie. Whatever they were, their individuality, their sense of self, all the things that made them what they were are gone. They become part of that . . . that thing. There are no exceptions, no second chances, no cure. Your sister, your father, anybody who’s infected, they’re dead from the instant it begins.’
‘You don’t know that.’
She nodded. ‘I do, Callie. I don’t like it; in fact I hate it, we all do. But it’s the truth, and the fact it was your sister or your father doesn’t alter it. All you were doing by helping her was putting other people’s lives at risk.’
When I didn’t reply she looked at me, her expression softer. ‘Let me ask you another question, Callie. What did you think was going to happen once you got her to the Zone? How did you think you’d survive? And once she was gone, once the Change really had her, what did you think you’d do then?’
When she finished speaking I looked away, blinking back tears, although not of anger. The tears were because I knew she was right, that after all we had been through the thing that had driven me had been so stupid, a child’s fantasy.
‘You don’t know where she is, do you?’
I shook my head. Kostova nodded.
‘It was her the three men were after, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m sorry you had to go through that.’
Her voice was sympathetic yet something in it caught my attention. Looking back at her I realised she was scrutinising me carefully. I nodded, keeping my eyes on hers.
‘I need to ask you some other questions though,’ she said. ‘About what happened in Adelaide.’
I didn’t respond, just sat staring back.
‘We know you had help.’
When I didn’t reply she smiled and sat forward. ‘It’s okay, you won’t be betraying anybody by talking to me. We already know most of it. We just want to clear up a few details.’
As she spoke I felt myself grow tense, aware of the watching eye of the camera in her goggles. Was this what she really wanted from me? Information?
‘It was your father’s friend, Claire, who helped you, wasn’t it?’
Despite myself I froze. Kostova smiled.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I said.
‘No?’ As she spoke she touched the table in front of her and an image flickered into life. With one hand she spun it around so it faced me.
At first I didn’t understand what I was looking at. It was dark, one corner of the image blown out by a streetlight. But then I recognised it as a corner near the university. At first nothing happened, then I saw two figures walk into frame. One a woman, the other a girl with a child on her hip. I looked up without waiting to see their faces.
‘You’re in a lot of trouble,’ she said. ‘You understand that?’
When I didn’t reply she tapped the table and the image disappeared. She looked at me. ‘I want you to listen to me, Callie, and think about what I’m about to say. You’re not a bad kid, I can see that. You’re brave and resourceful and you want to do the right thing. But you’ve picked the wrong side in all this. You might have done that for the right reasons but it doesn’t change the fact you made the wrong call. But there’s a way out. All you need to do is help us. I can’t guarantee you won’t be punished but I can promise you we’ll put in a good word for you, and that matters.’
I folded my arms and looked back at her, unspeaking.
Kostova sighed. ‘Let me ask you something else then. How much do you know about your father’s work?’
I stared at her in surprise. ‘What?’
She stared at me impassively. ‘The work your father was involved with when he Changed. What do you know about it?’
I shook my head. ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Or, I mean, I know it had something to do with the Change, but not a lot more. He was a biologist.’
Kostova nodded, her eyes not leaving my face. ‘So your father never discussed his work with you?’
‘No. I was just a kid when he Changed.’
‘And you never discussed your father’s work with Claire?’
‘Claire didn’t do anything wrong,’ I said, more hotly than I had intended.
‘No? By helping you protect your sister she may have helped expose others to the Change, caused others to be infected.’
As she spoke I remembered Matt’s words, about the Change being everywhere, in the water, in the soil, in the air.
‘But that’s not true, is it?’ I said. ‘Because the Change is already here, all around us.’
As my words registered, something shifted in her expression.
‘You think we’re the enemy, Callie, but we’re not.’ I thought she might say more but there was a knock on the door and Egan appeared.
‘They want her back in Medical,’ he said. ‘There’s something in her readings they need to clear up.’
17
My heart was racing as Egan led me back to Medical. Was I infected? Had I somehow been exposed back there in the forest? Had the same spores that had infected Gracie infected me? Was I Changing as well?
The room he placed me in was almost identical to the first one I had been in: windowless, its bare walls devoid of colour. Left alone I sat down on the bed and tried to calm myself.
After a quarter of an hour or so the doctor who had examined me the first time reappeared. Opening a drawer beside the bed she took out a tourniquet and wound it around my upper arm. A vein bulged in the soft flesh of my elbow; she took a needle and slipped it in, waiting while the syringe filled with dark, venous blood.
Once she was done she withdrew the needle and placed the vial full of blood in a sealed container. As she wrote a number on the label there was a knock at the door and a younger woman stepped in.
‘Check her knee,’ the doctor said, her attention still on the sample. ‘I think it needs stitches.’
Once the doctor was gone the younger woman pulled on gloves and assembled swabs and saline. She was smaller, dark-skinned, with a square, friendly face, but like the doctor she seemed unwilling to speak to me. When she had her materials she told me to lie back, and almost wordlessly began to flush out the cuts on my hands and arms with saline before applying glue and medistrips to the worst of them. Once my hands and arms were done she directed me to sit up and began work on my legs. As she probed the gash on my right knee I winced and she glanced up at me.
‘It’s deep but I think we can probably get away without stitches,’ she said. When I didn’t reply she placed a finger by the wound. ‘I can put some anaesthetic spray on it if you like.’
I shook my head. ‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s fine.’
She looked at me for a moment and then returned to her work.
‘What will happen to me?’ I asked at last.
She looked up at me again, then back to her work.
‘That’s nothing to do with me,’ she said. ‘But I assume you’ll be taken south to one of the correctional centres.’
As she spoke she drew the wound shut, pressing the sides so they sealed while she attached a line of medistrips with her free hand. I bit my lip against the pain but forced myself to keep my eyes open. When she finished she stood up.
‘What happens now?’ I asked.
She
unpeeled her gloves. ‘Normally you’d be sent south immediately, but there are some anomalies in your readings, so you’ll be staying here overnight.’
I hesitated, remembering Kostova and Claire’s questions about my father and his work. Something was nagging at me, something I almost remembered. ‘What kind of anomalies? Am I infected?’
She looked at me then away, her expression changing, as if she was worried she had said something she shouldn’t have. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, her face telling me further questions were useless.
Without speaking she led me to a larger room with four other beds, two of which were empty, one of which was curtained off. Like the examination room and the cell there were no windows, just the medicinal reek of soap and antiseptic. Once I was inside, she handed me a gown and told me to put it on, which I did, undressing quickly in the small bathroom and pulling it closed around myself.
The clothes I had been wearing were filthy, and as I folded them it was difficult not to be aware of how bad they smelled, but as I handed them to the nurse I found myself suddenly reluctant to release possession of them, as if they were one of my last connections to the outside world.
‘What will happen to my clothes?’ I asked as she placed them into a bag.
‘They’ll be incinerated,’ she said, her words cutting into me.
I lay down gingerly, trying not to knock my various bruises and abrasions. Although it was barely a week since I had fled with Gracie, it seemed a lifetime since I had lain in an actual bed, and there was something immensely comforting about the sensation of clean sheets and a mattress beneath me. Once I was settled, the nurse placed a cannula in the back of my hand and hooked me up to a drip.
‘Here,’ she said, holding out a handful of pills.
‘What are they?’
I saw something flicker across her face. ‘Pain relief,’ she said. ‘And antibiotics.’
Realising I had no choice, I placed them in my mouth, two by two, and swallowed them. Her eyes didn’t leave me until they were all gone.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll be back in a while.’
I don’t know what was in the pills, but whatever it was made me sleep. When I awoke the room was in darkness, the only light coming from the hall outside. I looked around, confused. The last thing I remembered was taking the pills, but if you had asked me I was not sure I would have said that I had slept at all, simply that I had closed my eyes and then reopened them. Next to me the curtains had been swept back and the bed was empty, the sheets drawn up neatly as if it had never been occupied; on the wall a poster reinforced the importance of reporting Changed biology.
For a few minutes I lay staring up at the ceiling, trying to orient myself. I felt spacey and dissociated, as if the pills had contained some kind of sedative. Finally I sat up, but as I did I heard a sound somewhere outside. At first I thought it must be a wild animal – a monkey perhaps, or some kind of night creature – but then I realised it was human, or almost human, that somebody was crying out in pain or fury. I sat listening, trying to locate the sound, wondering vaguely whether it was coming through the ventilation system.
Gingerly I placed my feet on the ground, and as I did so I heard the heavy swoosh of a door opening in the hall outside and the sound of footsteps hurrying toward me. Swinging my legs back up onto the bed I dropped onto my side and closed my eyes again, but the footsteps passed by.
There was a muffled shout and the screaming stopped. I lay, straining to hear, to make some sense of what had just happened, but there was no other sound until a minute or so later when the door at the end of the hall opened again and somebody walked quietly down the corridor and, pausing by my door, stepped into my room and approaching my bed, adjusted something on my drip.
Careful not to move I focused on my breath, attempting to keep it quiet, regular, slow, while also trying to ignore the awareness that my unidentified observer was standing, watching me, that they might already know I was not asleep, until at last I heard them move away and out the door.
Once I was sure they were gone I sat up again. The floor was cool underfoot, as was the air against my back where my gown gaped open. Placing my finger on my wrist I tried to withdraw the cannula, first gently and then, when that failed, with a quick tug and a stifled yelp of pain. Aware of the warmth of blood spilling forth I grabbed a handful of my gown and pressed it against the back of my hand while I looked around.
Although it was dark there was enough light to make out a cupboard over by the door; I crossed toward it, hoping to find something I could wear or use. Inside there was a plastic jug and some spare cups, a magazine and, neatly folded on a shelf near the top, two pillows and a cotton blanket.
Pulling the pillows down I shoved them into the bed to create the illusion I was still lying there. It wasn’t an effect that would fool anybody for very long, but as I glanced back at it from the door it at least made the bed look occupied to a casual observer.
Outside in the hall it was dark as well, although as I peered up and down the corridor I could see a light on behind the security door at the end. Moving quickly along the wall I hurried toward it. Through the window in the door I could see a nurse’s station of some sort, its small space a pool of light in the darkness, yet the heavy door was locked.
When the nurse had led me through earlier I’d had time to notice the door was operated by security card, meaning I had no way to open it, and even if I could break the glass or pry it open somehow, it seemed likely it would almost certainly trigger some sort of alarm.
I turned back and headed toward the other end of the corridor. The first room I passed was empty, but as I peered into the second I saw a shape lying in one of the beds and heard a soft snore and shut the door again as quickly as I could.
I was almost at the other end of the corridor when I glimpsed movement through the window in the security door in front of me. For an instant I froze, preparing to dart back into the nearest room, but then I remembered the sleeping form. On the other side of the door whoever it was paused and I heard the lock click, so not knowing what else to do I flung myself forward and pressed myself into the corner beside the door.
How he didn’t see me I don’t know, but the door opened and a man in scrubs appeared. Turning aside he used his body to hold the door open as a woman stepped past him, the backs of his legs less than a metre from my face. Once she was through he released the door and followed her into the corridor.
My heart hammered in my chest as they moved away, but glancing sideways I saw the door swinging slowly closed beside me. For a split second I hesitated, unsure what lay on the other side, then I darted through, the door closing with a heavy whoosh behind me.
The corridor was dark, the only light coming from the door at the far end. Aware I might only have a few seconds before somebody else appeared, I moved quickly and quietly along it.
Just as in the medical area the corridor was lined with doors. Some were clearly entrances to storage areas and cupboards; others were larger and had panels of glass set into their top halves, below which were pasted the symbol indicating the presence of Changed biology. Pausing by one I peered through: in the gloom I could see what looked like a laboratory with a steel table at its centre, as if for medical examination. Or dissection, I suddenly realised, remembering the screaming.
Further along the corridor I came upon a pair of doors marked with male and female symbols. Gently I leaned against the female one, opening the door a crack; inside was some kind of locker or changing room. It seemed to be unattended so I slipped inside and hurried across to the line of lockers that stood against the side wall. The first couple were empty, but the third held a lab coat and a black canvas bag. Glancing at the door behind me I groped through the pockets of the coat. But as I dropped to my knees to unbuckle the bag, I heard voices in the hall. Heart racing I shoved the bag back in and darted around the corner into the toilets and s
lipped into one of the stalls.
I crouched on the toilet and held my breath. For a minute or two they stood, talking, then I heard the showers in the next room come on. At first I was too afraid to move, but finally, I stepped down and opened the door of the stall. Seeing no sign of movement, I slipped out and peered around the corner. A pair of bags sat on the bench by the lockers, a T-shirt and a pair of jeans on the hook above one, a shirt and what looked like cargo pants above the other.
With a quick glance in the direction of the showers I darted across to the bench and snatched the jeans and the T-shirt and pulled them on, but as I pulled the T-shirt over my head the pipes in the next room creaked and one of the showers shut off. Grabbing my gown I balled it up and stuffed it into a bin by the door, but as I did I noticed a plastic ID card attached to the other pair of pants, so I shot back and unclipped it, then dashed out the door into the corridor.
I knew I only had a minute or two until the women in the locker room realised their clothes were missing, so I raced for the door at the far end of the corridor and pressed the card against the security pad. At first nothing happened, then there was a click and the lock released. Shoving the door open I sprinted through.
This next stretch of corridor led to a junction. Reaching it I paused, looking first one way and then the other. To the left the passage terminated in a heavy door, its front emblazoned with the symbol denoting Change infection; to the right it led to another heavy door, this one free of the Change symbol.
Deciding I was more likely to find an exit by moving away from the bio-secure areas, I ran toward the second door, but then I heard a wail of agony from behind me. Like the cry I’d heard earlier this one sounded female, yet like no human voice I’d ever heard.
For a few seconds I couldn’t move. I knew I had to get to that door, find a way out, yet I also had to know who or what was making the sound; every part of me rebelled at the idea of walking away from such distress. I turned around back toward the doors with the bio-hazard symbol.
Like the other doors, this one had a pair of windows set into its top half. Pressing myself against it I angled my face so I could peer in. It was a large room, fitted out in the same pale hospital shades as the others. Yet unlike the others one side was partitioned off by some kind of grille, or bars. At first I wasn’t sure what they were, but then I realised it was a line of cages, or cells, each about three metres wide and containing a low bench and a toilet.
The Silent Invasion Page 15