Chapter Twenty-Three: Caryn
I walk down the streets alone, not really caring where I am going or what I am seeing. Water fills my eyes and blurs the world as ghost-shapes walk around me, but no one touches me. They avoid me as if I am the disease that will carry them away, not the cure. I nearly trip over a step in the sidewalk and decide to sit down. There is this ache inside and I wrap my arms around it, but it will not go away. If the next two days are anything like this one I wish they would take me back now. The closed look on Kai’s face as he left the shop is seared in my mind and the feeling that washes over my heart makes me wonder if this is what death feels like. Is it possible to survive a pain like this? What if I died right here before the Compound could get me? At least there I would not die alone.
The tears drip down the side of my face and I wipe them with the corner of my sleeves until both of my sleeves are soaked and cold around my wrists. I wanted Kai to understand; I wanted him to stay with me today. I wanted to be with someone who cared and could help me deal with these emotions. Our class on dealing with death said to find someone you trusted and confide in them, but I cannot think of anyone I could talk to, aside from Anderson or May and Janissa and they aren’t here.
But everything is different in the city. People are rushing around to fulfill their own goals, working, playing or shopping, and hurrying, always hurrying. There is no greater purpose for the rest of the planet. People like Kai’s mother could force the care of her son on another. People can leave you because you can’t do what they want, even if you want to with every fiber of your being. They don’t have to be loyal or obedient. Maybe Kai is right. Maybe this world does not deserve to be saved. Maybe it would be best to let everyone die.
I sigh and try to push those thoughts away, but questions rise each time. Why do I have to be the one who thinks of others? If I don’t who will? Why can’t I leave this place and travel far away with Kai? What about my promise to return at the end of these three days? Now my thoughts are so tangled I don’t know what to think or feel.
I stand up and start to run. The tears on my face turn cool in the breeze. At first I don’t care where I am going, but then I smell the lake and head there. I need to swim. I need to sort this out.
Unlike the quiet of the evenings, the docks are bustling with activity. Crates are being loaded and unloaded, seamen, fishermen and buyers are arguing over cargo and the noise from the machines and boat engines forces everyone to shout. I dodge around them and run to the nearest dock.
“You can’t go there,” someone yells, but I ignore him and dive off the end of the last pier.
As soon as the water hits my ears this sense of comfort eases into my soul, a sense that this is where I belong. I stay under, wrapped in the water’s embrace for as long as I can and only come up for a quick breath. Then I swim two miles to the center of the lake and when I still feel the confusion inside, I swim on to the other side. The familiar movements give me something to focus on and I push my muscles as hard as I have been taught. I turn to the left as I reach the other side and swim parallel to the shore until my arms feel like each has a fifty pound weight strapped around it.
I let myself sink below the surface, enjoying the quiet and the uncomplicatedness of the water. Here there is no right, wrong or responsibility. Here I do not feel alone and I do not have to think. The blood in my head slows back to normal as it pulses behind my ear. Any sign of my earlier tears are washed away. I let myself rise slowly to the surface and my head breaks through. I take a breath and water splashes in my face. I wipe my eyes and when I open them I see a rock flying toward me. I am too stunned to move as it splashes a foot from my face.
A figure freezes on the shore and I blink away water that slides down my nose. There is something familiar about the person and I duck under the surface and swim closer to the shore. I come up where the water is three feet deep and the figure jumps and begins to run away with hair flying.
“Sara?” I call. I wipe my hair out of my face to get a better view.
The girl stops and turns back around.
“I thought you were a jigger,” Sara says.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask.
“Melissa’s in a coma now and my mom cried all last night,” Sara says and she walks closer. “And I hate jiggers.”
Sara picks up a handful of rocks and hurls them into the lake saying, “I hate them. I hate them. I hate them.”
I watch her throw rocks until she sinks to the ground and I sit next to her. I can’t think of anything to say and Sara turns her face so I cannot see her.
“Why haven’t we killed all the jiggers? Why do we let them live if they could kill us?” she asks.
“We let them live because the vaccine slows the aging process. People live much longer now than they did 3,000 years ago. Back then the oldest person might live to 120, if they were lucky. Now people can have fruitful lives into their 300’s, more than double what it used to be.”
“I’d rather live to 120 than have to wonder if the cure will be ready in time.”
“The officials and scientists feel the risk is acceptable,” I say.
“Well, they must not have a younger brother and sister who are dying,” Sara says and she throws a pebble. It skips on the other rocks and gravel and lands a foot shy of the water.
I remember Jackson coughing and imagine Melissa falling into a coma. A sour taste fills my mouth and sinks in my stomach. I look at Sara and the defiant tilt of her chin. I wonder when she will start having symptoms, when her exuberance will be overtaken by exhaustion.
“Do you want to go home?” I ask.
Sara shrugs her shoulders, but when I stand she rises with me.
The moment her front door opens a strong mix of unclean human bodies and bleach rolls out of the door. Compared to the first day I was here, my initial thought is that the whole house is overflowing. I shake my head and think there must be patients on all floors now. With a last whiff of fresh air, I follow Sara into her house and up to the second floor bathroom. I shower and Sara gives me a bathrobe to wear while we wait for my clothes to dry. Once I am back into my own clothes I follow her down to the main floor.
All of the furniture in the living room and dining room has been stacked against the wall to create a large empty space in the center. Already two sleeping mats have been placed in the living room, both occupied.
“We have new kids arriving every hour and some are even older than me.” Sara says. “But I don’t feel sick yet.”
“It affects each person differently,” Doc Hubbard says from the doorway. “Some kids have a weaker immune system or have been exposed to more of the toxin than others.” There seem to be more wrinkles on his face and dark circles under his eyes.
“I heard Melissa is sick,” I say.
Doc nods.
“Let me take a shower first and then we can see her together,” Sara says and disappears up the stairs.
“Have you--do you know what you will do?” Doc asks.
It is the question I would like to ask myself. Should I gather the cure, allowing the Compound to continue exploiting the people, or should I not gather the cure and risk all the sick children in this house, and all over the world, dying? Neither option is best.
“What do you think I should do?”
Doc shakes his head. “Every molecule in my body wants you to get the cure. My children, my wife’s happiness, my family depend on it. She always wanted a big family, but even with all my medical contacts, the arrivals of all three of our children were miracles. I know I should be willing to sacrifice them for the good of my other patients, especially the future ones. I just can’t, even though I also know it could be my children I need to treat after signing their health rights away. I would rather see them live even with the possibility of side effects, than die.” Doc pauses and I can see the sincerity in his brown eyes, then he adds, “But I would understand if you make the Compound wait.”
“I don’t know wha
t to do,” I say. My life hangs in the balance too. Waiting would break the Compound’s hold on the planet. The future would be different. But it would mean some would die, perhaps even those in this house. If things went very wrong it could be all the children here. Could I live with myself after letting even one of them die? Heather had always protected me, even when things would go worse for her because of it. We were born to protect them. But now they wanted me to choose.
Sara rounds the corner, her hair still wet. She takes my arm and pulls me down to the first basement. Once again all the beds and tables are filled with patients. There is a solemn quiet in the room, adults whisper to each other with their head close together. The beeping of monitors and ragged breathing of the children occupy everyone. I see two heads look up at our entrance and then they drop back down.
“She’s over here next to Jackson,” Sara says.
I walk over to the bed and look at the little girl. Her eyes are closed as if she were sleeping. A small strand of her brown hair crosses over her nose and I reach over and tuck it behind her ear. Her hair feels so frail and her skin is cool to the touch. The urge I had to run away is replaced by this desire to pick her up and hold her in my arms. She is too young to be sick. I see the look of concern in Sara’s eyes and I realize that for all her big talk about her siblings ruining her life she still loves them.
Mrs. Hubbard is asleep bent over Jackson in the next bed while holding his hand in her now relaxed fingers. He looks smaller, younger than he did at the beginning of this week. As I gaze around the room I see Tommy, Tommy Jr. and all the other children. They are all too young to be sick and too young to die. I walk over to Tommy Jr. and place my hand on his forehead, then I try to brush Tommy’s red hair out of his face but it keeps falling back.
I’m surprised to find the emotion I feel for all these children. I am concerned for them, but it goes beyond worrying. I want to care for them, I want them to heal and I want to be the one who saves them.
“What?” Sara asks.
“I’m sorry?” I say bringing my focus back to Sara.
“You zoned out for a minute,” Sara says.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “I just realized I have to go.”
I walk to the door and Sara moves out of my way. Then I stop and say, “Sara, don’t worry about your brother and sister. They will get the vaccine and they will be running around in a week or two.”
“I hope so,” Sara says.
The White Lilac Page 23