“Do you need meds?” Abigail asked. She sat on her made bed, legs crossed, book resting in her lap. Everything in the room was underwater blurry.
“No.” I’m not sure how I got the word out. “I’m okay.”
She was to my side before I could say anything else. I was so confused, I thought she had gone to the Dining Hall already. Her face seemed too large as she bent near. Was this a dream? Why did her face grow and shrink like that?
“It’s almost over,” she said. And then, she sneaked the Tonic away from my bedside table. If I’d had the energy, I would have fought her for it. “Remember you want to choose.”
“I can’t do this,” I said.
“I’ll tell Ms. Iverson if you want me to, Shiloh,” Mary said. She stood next to Elizabeth’s bed, her hand on the pillow. Then, “I miss Elizabeth.”
A jolt ran through me.
“I better”—Mary hesitated—“I better go get some extra Tonic.”
Abigail seemed far away and then too close.
“We’ve got to get you dressed,” she said. Her hand was cool on my face. “You have the fever. You’ll be better soon. I promise.”
One-handed, Abigail helped me faster than I could have dressed myself.
“If you’ve taken more Tonic, it’ll take longer to get it out of your system.”
“I haven’t.” I gagged with the words.
The hardest part was doing my hair. It was so curly, so long and thick, Abigail couldn’t pull the brush through with one hand. And my scalp. It felt like my scalp was being ripped away. Like it bled.
“Have I ever told you I love your hair, Shiloh?” Abigail asked.
“No.” Bile rose to the back of my throat.
“I have this stick-straight hair. And yours is so full and big.” The brush tugged at my tangles. “After I came off the Tonic, I saw how pretty you are.” She spoke in tones that reminded me of chocolate. “Remember how you played Nurse in Romeo and Juliet?” I couldn’t nod. “This is the biggest role you’ll ever play. As sick as you are, as sick as you get, you have to act normal. Otherwise someone will find us out.”
I tried not to think of Elizabeth. Could we save her? Or would we be too late?
All the way down the hallway, slower Terminals around us, Abigail sent me words of encouragement.
“You can do it.”
“Just a little longer.”
“I swear breakfast will help.”
“We did it.”
“Think about getting out of here.”
“Think of Elizabeth.”
And always, always, “Act normal.”
But what was normal?—I could only remember the pounding in my brain.
The smell of vegan sausages made my mouth water and my stomach heave at the same time.
“Eat,” Abigail said.
“Fill your plate, Shiloh,” Ms. Iverson said. All around the dining room, the sounds of forks and knives clinking against china were so loud, it felt like a giant ate at my brain.
In the line, my appetite came back. I was starving. Ravenous. I filled my plate with rye waffles and fresh strawberries. When I poured milk from the glass pitcher, I had to use both hands.
At the table I sat across from Abigail, who raised her eyebrows at me.
“We’re meeting tonight,” she said. “Same time.” She ate like she wasn’t talking.
I nodded, almost not moving my neck, and pain shot down my back to my heels. The muscles around my spine contracted. This is how I felt after surgery. Cramps everywhere, burning in my skin, pain with every shallow breath. Fire. Ice.
So so sick. I’d forgotten that till right now.
“Okay.” Would my face explode on the table? The thought was a bit satisfying. A Replicant with no face. What good would I be to them then?
Was this what the Tonic suppressed? Were these emotions real? If only the pain would go away, maybe I could understand and act as a normal Terminal.
I waded through classes. Each step agonizing. Each breath like fingernails clawing at my lung. Could the other Terminals see me sweating? Or the Teachers? Or Ms. Iverson, who seemed to watch me side-eyed?
Then, just like that, not long after lunch as I walked to Study Hall, I was better.
One minute my head was about to blow up. The next, the pain was gone. I could see. I could hear. My heart wasn’t jumping out of my chest. My face still felt tender, and I couldn’t turn my head without my neck sending pain everywhere, but the headache, the nausea, the agony in every step were gone.
I could think. And I noticed what Abigail meant by wanting me to act the same as before.
All the Terminals were slow, hesitant. Their faces were tense. Their movements were deliberate. One step at a time. Teachers walked with confidence, heads held high. When they spoke, their mouths didn’t sound full of marbles.
But everyone else walked as a group, like geese flying in formation or a school of fish veering off in the same direction.
The difference between the Whole and Terminals was clear. The Tonic had kept shades over my eyes so I couldn’t see.
Is that what I had been? All this time? Barely moving?
I stumbled, trying to imagine myself like the rest of the Terminals here. I had been afraid. Worried of the Disease. Of being called out during lunch. Sure.
But I hadn’t realized that I had no personality. That’s why a smile frightened me, I thought, looking over everyone. Those Terminals’ faces showed no emotion. It was like they weren’t alive at all.
This is what the outside world, what the Whole, saw in all those commercials.
Blank faces, glazed eyes. No wonder when someone stopped taking the Tonic it was obvious. This is what Visitors saw. Terminals who weren’t really alive—so they could be used to death.
I kept pace with everyone.
These Terminals, I realized with a stab of unaccustomed emotion, were my friends.
Someone bumped into me, and I saw her curl forward from the touch.
The hall was quiet, even with the movement of everyone heading off to their respective classes. Shuffling filled the air. Why hadn’t I seen this before? I almost stopped to watch. But that wouldn’t be normal. Dr. King would know in a minute, the moment I stepped out of line.
15
“I have a secret,” Abigail said.
“What?” We were off to a different basement room. The meeting places changed to make it harder to find us. “Terminals don’t have secrets.”
There was a new voice in my mind. It started as the headache grew less and less. It said things like, Don’t they know everything about us anyway? What can we do about that? They know how we move and think and breathe. As the pain in my neck and shoulders disappeared, worry replaced it.
Not only was there a new voice, there was a new way of looking at things.
Even in the dark like tonight, lines were more distinct—not smudged as they had been before.
“Tell me your secret,” I said.
Abigail paused. She let her face crack open with a smile. “I like someone.”
“What do you mean? Of course you like someone. You like everyone. Terminals get along.”
“No,” Abigail said, her voice hushed and warm. “Different than that.” She put her hand to her cheek. Would I make these gestures, too? Would my words come out so mushy?
“I like Daniel.” She swallowed with a gulp. “I think he’s beautiful.”
All around us, the grays of the darkness pushed close. “I’ve never seen anything beautiful,” I said. “What do you mean?”
“You’ll see things of beauty from now on, Shiloh. Now that you’re getting better.”
“Okay.” I drew out the word.
“Including males. Especially males.”
My stomach dropped a bit. That’s what she meant? “Terminal males are off-limits. We don’t do anything with them more than classroom associations.” A bit of the morning’s pain stabbed at my shoulders. I stepped back.
“You’ll
see what I mean,” she said.
I would have shaken my head no, but I was afraid the pain might slap at me again. “Maybe.” I shrugged even though I knew she couldn’t see me in the darkness. “I don’t know.”
And then, up ahead, I heard voices.
Not Daniel.
Not Gideon.
I stopped. Put my hand out. Abigail clutched at my shirt, pulled me back. We shrank into the shadows. I thought to try and get away but knew that we’d be found if I did that. Fear flashed like light behind my eyes. My head pounded and I worried the detox would happen all over again.
Abigail’s face seemed to be made of a million gray and grayer dots. She leaned back into a tiny alcove I hadn’t even known was there and disappeared from view. “No matter what happens, don’t say anything.”
I slid back next to her.
Whispers floated down the hall.
What Terminal was awake now? Who made that much noise? Didn’t they know the dangers? How they put us all at risk?
There was the sound of shoes in the hallway. A male’s voice. Deep tones. And a female’s, too. Soft. Lighter.
They appeared like phantoms, a shade at a time as they drew closer.
Ants ran over and through me. Ms. Iverson.
With Mr. Tremmel.
“This cannot be,” Abigail said in my ear. I swatted at her, but missed.
I saw them as one being. They were connected, somehow. Touching. Were they tied together? Mr. Tremmel’s arm was around Ms. Iverson’s shoulder. And her arm was wrapped around his waist. She threw her head back, covered her mouth with her hand. They stopped a few paces away. In just three steps, I could have been by Ms. Iverson’s side.
Abigail gripped my arm. Shook her head. “Quiet.” She almost didn’t say the words. “No.”
Ms. Iverson murmured. Then Mr. Tremmel pulled Ms. Iverson close. He put his mouth to hers, like he would suck her life away.
I gasped and Abigail pulled at my shirt.
Ms. Iverson’s arms went up and around Mr. Tremmel’s neck. She couldn’t even stand on her own, but had to be held up. What was going on? This was dangerous. Deadly.
I should go help her but I closed my eyes. Opened them again to peek at what occurred in the hallway. I couldn’t give up the Cause, not even for Ms. Iverson.
Ms. Iverson and Mr. Tremmel stood there, mouths pressing together. Didn’t they have any idea what kind of germs they spread?
Mr. Tremmel pulled away from Ms. Iverson and to my complete surprise she did not fall to the ground dead. Instead, she ran her hand down the side of his face, rested her fingertips near his lips.
“We don’t have much time,” she said. Then they were gone, making way more noise than they should.
I blinked. “He didn’t kill her,” I said, relieved.
Abigail shook her head. “No.” And her voice was solemn. “I’ve seen a whole documentary on that with Gideon and Daniel. There’re several parts to it. It’s called One Life to Live.”
“They have documentaries on spreading germs?”
“It’s called kissing,” Abigail said. When she spoke again, she sounded reverent. “I’ve done that with Daniel.”
“What?” I thought I might swallow my tongue. It felt slippery as raw fish.
We walked again and I was shaky, jittery. Abigail looked so pleased. Not a bit the way I felt … disgusted at the germ sharing—the possibility of who-knows-what.
“It’s not like what they’ve taught us here,” she said. “We should be together.”
I didn’t answer.
“We should touch. Care.”
“How do you know?” My voice was a shallow whisper.
She shrugged, her shoulders almost not lifting. “It’s just right. Terminals are meant to be with each other. Like the Whole are. Not only in classrooms. Not separated the way we are.”
I took a deep breath. “Are you telling me you put your lips on his?”
“It was fun,” Abigail said. “His mouth was so warm. And his lips were soft.” She closed her eyes. “And his tongue…”
“I don’t want to know,” I said. “Yuck!”
Abigail raised her eyes at me. “I won’t tell you every detail. Some of it’s private.”
“I think maybe I’ll skip this part of being off the Tonic,” I said.
Abigail linked her arm with mine. When my stomach swirled, I swallowed away the nausea. “Sure you will,” she said.
16
“This is what we’re fighting against,” Gideon was saying when we came in the room. Daniel’s wheelchair was close to the computer. I looked at him, hard. Did I want to press my lips on his? I edged around for a better view.
He looked fine. Like anyone else, I suppose. His lips were full. His glasses reflected the computer screen.
“What are you looking at, Shiloh?” Daniel asked.
A tingle of surprise went through me. Your lips, I wanted to say but instead said, “Nothing.” My cheeks heated up.
“What’s wrong?” Abigail asked Gideon. She took my hand and I held on tight. Her touch was warm, soft. I was getting used to this intimacy. The sickness lessened with each caress. I could see this unusual way of communicating—by letting your own skin brush against someone else—could be a comfort. I looked at Daniel again.
Maybe I could see the reasoning for pressing lips together.
He glanced at me like I had done something wrong.
“We found something last night,” Gideon said. “New information.”
He tapped keys, and the screen changed. Dr. King and the female who wanted me. Her blond curly hair was tamed back in a clasp of some sort.
“It’s her,” I said.
“Yes,” Gideon said. “She’s debating Dr. King.”
I swallowed. “Why her?”
“She’s an advocate for Terminals the world over.” When Daniel spoke, his voice was so flat, I almost didn’t hear him. He sounded Terminal. “This is about if we’re worthy to live.”
Gideon turned up the sound.
“The question here isn’t what others are saying, Ann,” Dr. King said.
Ann.
I wanted to see everything about her. Make myself remember what she looked like.
“We can have too many rules in society. These Replicants—or Duplicates, or Copies, whatever you want to call them—they have no souls. These are not people. They are property. They were not made by the union of two people. They were made by me—by my abilities.” Dr. King held his hands out for her to see, then rested both hands on his chest.
“The argument,” Ann said, “is that they are human, Dr. King. They deserve the rights any human would because they live and breathe and have feelings and emotions.”
Dr. King shifted, leaning closer to Ann, and his face grew larger on the screen. “They have no emotions. You’ve seen them. You’ve seen the footage from the schools.”
She said nothing.
I thought of what I had seen today. A hallway of Terminals, going to class, heads down, walking in the same fashion, almost taking the same steps together.
That wasn’t our fault, I wanted to tell the female. Ann. We did what we were programmed to do.
Dr. King’s face was earnest. “They are body parts. Just a product. I am their god, Ms. Alexander.”
Ann looked surprised. “That’s an arrogant statement, don’t you think?”
“Not when it’s the truth.” Dr. King appeared confident.
“There’s a natural process. We all must die.”
“There was a natural process. I’ve all but stopped it. Imagine. You’re in a car accident. Your family member is on life support. For all intents and purposes, dead. Before, we took parts from those who had died and gave them to others so they could live. The dead were our heroes.”
“I know the history of medicine, Dr. King.”
Dr. King kept speaking as though she had said nothing. “Now we have the solution to save the lives of those who would have been donors. With today’s tec
hnologies, with Haven Hospitals and Halls, we can have an exact match for you. We can save your loved ones. And you know about losing someone you love, don’t you?”
“I do, Dr. King.” A bright light showed on Ann’s face. “It is the daughter I lost and her Replicant who are part of my inspiration to stop you. And the rest of the Terminals you lord over.”
He paused, opened his mouth, closed it. He looked right out the screen at us and I jumped back.
“He can’t see you, Shiloh,” Abigail said. “He’s not in there.”
Just like that, I was sweating. “I know. But it feels like he can see into me.”
“I aim to put you out of business,” Ann said.
Dr. King bowed his head. “I understand loss, too. I lost my own son, my own boy, not that long ago.”
Ann’s voice was sympathetic. “I know that history, too, Dr. King. He didn’t agree with you and your hospital. Your son didn’t want a Copy to keep him going, did he?”
“Why would you say that?” Dr. King’s voice was broken.
“He and your ex-wife were killed, and you couldn’t save either one even though you had the technology.”
“That’s sad,” Abigail said.
“Why is that sad? His son made a choice. He had the choice,” Daniel said. “What do we get?”
“We can save people,” Dr. King was saying. “Even if my boy didn’t understand and made other choices, there is the technology to keep others living well for a long time. It’s my mission for others because of my boy.”
“While your argument is compelling,” Ann said, “there is still the fact that these are living, breathing, functioning people.”
“Who have no souls,” Dr. King said. “That is what this debate is about, not about my family and their decisions. We know how the rest of the world looks at the soulless. And Ms. Alexander, you’ve seen these Copies firsthand. You’ve seen there’s nothing in their eyes. You’ve also seen footage of what happens when the less tolerant come in contact with such an unnatural group. It’s torture and death and destruction.”
“What you do is the torture, death, and destruction, Dr. King,” Ann Alexander said.
“We differ, Ms. Alexander. In this country, we can have opinions and express them. The facts are, there are those who have the means who can keep themselves in the best possible shape and I help them.”
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