by Kate Myers
“No, why?”
“You need to get your strength up, we start soon.”
My eyes sway to Dad. He’s beaming and nodding, and I find myself smiling, too.
“Soon, soon?”
“Yep,” he marvels cheerfully.
“What, how?” I ask, feeling like an idiot for not knowing the plan already. But also incredibly excited to get this show on the road. The moment I’ve been waiting for, what we’ve all been hopeful for.
Pointing to me, Dad prompts, “Breakfast, now.”
Once in the kitchen area, Alex glances up from his spot overlooking Wiley. His eyes focus on all of us, almost like he’s trying to analyze us somehow.
“Hey, Keith, I was trying to find you. Well, before Wiley dismantled his gun.”
Dad’s eyebrows shoot up. “He did what?”
“My thoughts exactly. Anyway, we really need to sit down and chat. Figure out how to move forward.”
I rummage through the fridge and try my best to listen intently.
“I agree, I actually needed to speak to you, too.”
“Yeah? What’s going on?” Alex replies.
“I just need more pieces to the puzzle, and I was hoping that you could help me with that.”
Intrigued, Alex says, “How so?”
“Right now, we have a deranged and comatose, but if you’re saying the mind-controlled are another version of this virus, then I need a blood sample from one of them, too.” Despite knowing that this is part of the plan to get him out of the house, I can’t help but feel like he’s speaking the truth, too, that he really does need a mind-controlled blood sample.
“Good, I like the sound of that,” Alex beams enthusiastically. “Anything to gain some forward momentum. It’s early, we could leave soon.”
I peel back the plastic on a cheese stick, and he shoots me an eager yet hopeful glare. “Max, you down to go on another adventure?”
Oh god. Shit. What do I say? I’m terrible at being called out on the spot. I panic and shove the mozzarella into my mouth, desperately hoping someone will say something, anything.
“I, ugh,” I say between chewing, “I don’t know. I don’t really…”
Please, someone, say something.
Wiley shuffles in his seat, raising his hand and speaking first. “I’ll go.”
Alex frowns. “What about you, Quinn?”
She hesitates and then confidently declares, “I should really keep an eye on Skylar, especially after the recent events.”
“Keith?” He’s pleading at this point, anyone but Wiley.
“I’m afraid I can’t step away from my work for very long. I need to stay focused on my tests, you understand, right?” He’s getting good at this, so convincing.
Alex sighs and turns to Wiley. “I guess it’s me and you.”
“Oh, c’mon now, we make a great team. We’re like Smokey and the Bandit, or… I don’t know, some other awesome duo.” Wiley smacks Alex on the back. “We can come up with nicknames, too.” He’s playing his part well.
Shaking his head, he grumbles, “No, no nicknames. Go get your things and we’ll head out.” He mutters, “This should be fun.”
“Thanks, Alex. I think it’ll be really beneficial to have that sample,” Dad gushes. “If I can run the data of the sample against what we already have, it will help me categorize and isolate the common variables which will help me figure out what we’re working with here.”
Wiley exits the room, and a few moments later, Quinn and I leave, hopefully not making it quite so obvious we were all leaving at the same time.
We all meet in my bedroom, crammed in the far corner like sardines.
Wiley speaks quietly. “What’s going on?”
Quinn says in a rush, “We have a theory, a procedure we want to run with Max and Skylar, but we need Alex out of the house. We don’t want him to know anything until we know something totally concrete. Keith doesn’t fully trust him.”
“That makes sense why you’ve been all chipper today.” He elbows me with a smirk.
“We really do need that sample,” she adds. “But we also pushed the issue to get him out of the house.”
“How long do you need?” Wiley asks.
“The good part of the day, at least. We’d like twenty-four hours, but we know that’s probably not likely.”
Shaking his head and soaking up the information, Wiley seeks approval, “Max, I can trust you, with Skylar, right?”
“Absolutely,” I say honestly.
He hugs me and squeezes me tight, slapping me on the back. “Keep her safe. Keep yourself safe.”
I hate that this feels like some type of goodbye.
“Here.” Quinn hands him her backpack. “I put the supplies you two will need to get a sample. No clue how you’ll pull it off, but I’m sure Alex will come up with something.”
Only a few incredibly nerve-racking minutes go by before they’re out the door and on their adventure. Dad, Quinn, and I stand on the porch and wave them goodbye until they’re out of sight. When we can no longer see them, we make our way hurriedly into the house.
Dad clasps his hand onto my shoulder. “You ready?”
For a split second, I think about his question, am I ready? Am I ready for facing the things that terrify me headfirst? Am I ready for needles and being poked and prodded and the blood drained out of me and pumped into me and the unknown of whether or not this will work or if it will cause harm to either of us? Am I ready to do something after what seems like forever of doing nothing to try to bring Skylar back?
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I say, totally terrified but totally willing to do what it takes.
28
Max
“This will only pinch a little,” Quinn proclaims, piercing my skin with a needle.
I’m unable to look away, even though the simple idea of what we’re doing sends shivers down my spine and curdles my insides. My eyes close, and I try to imagine my happy place. I struggle to think of a time where I could escape, so I invent a new one. A place far away from here, or maybe right here, but with completely different circumstances.
The cabin but without the apocalypse, without the loss and destruction and constant deceit. Without the girl I’m falling head over heels for fighting to stay away from death’s door. A place where we’re safe, really, truly safe.
“You okay?” Quinn asks.
My eyes open slowly, and I find myself not wanting to leave my happy place. “Yeah.”
“This gauge should allow for less pressure and more blood flow,” Dad says to Quinn.
“Mmhm,” she agrees. “And if I’m remembering correctly, ten units should take around twenty-four hours, but given Skylar’s weight, I’m assuming she’s around six or seven units.”
“Given she requires the full amount,” Dad adds.
“Exactly, but that’s what I don’t really know. Plus, there’s a limit to how much blood you can expel, but given they’re also receiving, it makes things a little bit harder to figure out. Hemoglobin counts will take some time to recover, too.”
My stomach gurgles. “Could I maybe have my headphones?”
“Don’t be a baby,” Quinn jokes.
“I could totally pass out if that makes things easier,” I tease.
“Fine, fine, where are they?”
I point to the nightstand, and she snags them with her pinky and gives them to me. I use my free arm to grab the phone out of my pocket and awkwardly plug the headphones in. A few clicks and swipes later, I find some music that will help me drown out the mildly nauseating conversation Dad and Quinn are having.
“You done with that arm now?” Quinn asks.
“Yep,” I reply.
Repeating the same steps, I extend it to her and close my eyes.
I tense momentarily and then relax semi-comfortably into the chair that they have situated slightly elevated from Skylar’s position. Something about blood flow.
Despite my music, I overhear little bits o
f Quinn and Dad talking to each other but do my best to censor it out. I catch the words central catheter and blood volume but don’t get enough of the rest to know what they were referring to. I know I should be more involved, listen and pay attention and learn, but honestly, I’m panicking. I’ve never been good with needles or blood or medical procedures and I can’t allow my irrational fears to get in the way of this happening. It’s best for all of us if I just distract myself.
Focus on my happy place. Focus on this all being over soon, but not in a we’re all going to die kind of way, a this is going to work, and we’ll all be okay kind of way.
A wave crashes over me, from head to toe, a sudden coldness followed by a massive surge of heat. My heart speeds up its pace, and I can’t seem to figure out if it’s because of the procedure or my lack of manliness in this situation. I struggle to control the panic forming in every grain of my body.
Keep it together, Max. Don’t be a wuss. You can do this. It’s only a little blood.
I recall Skylar’s anxiety, how she stilled herself by breathing deeply through her nose and out through her mouth. I follow along, doing the same actions until I’ve calmed myself slightly.
A small, warm hand touches my upper arm. “You okay?” Quinn asks, looking concerned.
I force a smile and nod, shutting out the ever-growing queasiness wanting to take root, not wanting to tell her how I really feel. I know it’s just the weirdness I have with this kind of stuff making me feel this way.
My gaze lingers down to Skylar, trailing the new IV line, matching the two that I have. The strand of hair that keeps falling in her face has managed to make its way onto her cheek. I ache to sweep it away but am rooted in place.
“How long until we know if it works?” I say into the room, hoping someone will answer.
Dad discloses, “Not sure. Can’t say we’ve ever dealt with this sort of thing before.”
“Okay,” I say, unsure of how loud I’m talking because of having headphones on.
Dad looks my way, and with his deep-brown eyes carving into me, he says, “You tell me if you start feeling any type of way, okay? I know you’re freaking out a little, but you need to communicate if something is wrong.”
“Okay,” I lie.
I should tell him the truth, but I know if I do, he’ll immediately pull the whole operation, and we’ll be back to square one. Skylar can’t afford to return to the drawing board. No matter what, we follow through on this. My blood has been the first and only solution that has given an insight into saving her. I knew there would be risks and I accepted them. No matter what happens to me, Skylar has to make it out of this.
29
Wiley
I am definitely not the guy for this job.
The diversion, yes, but the rest of what I’ve managed to sign myself up for, no.
This probably wasn’t what Alex had in mind either. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d rather go alone than have me tag along.
It’s not that I mean to be such a screw-up, it just happens naturally. The universe loves to troll me and somehow thinks making me trip over my own two feet is hilarious. Which, I can’t blame it, it really is. I just think the ability to walk and chew gum should come effortlessly, not be a thing you constantly have to work on.
And maybe I’m exaggerating. Maybe I’m only being hard on myself because everyone around me is magically so damn useful.
Alex is a freaking superhero. The man can pretty much kick ass with whatever is thrown at him. He’s smart and super capable.
Quinn is incredibly intelligent, soft-spoken but somehow able to stand her ground and have brilliant ideas. Not to mention she’s compassionate and massively selfless. Everything she’s gone through and she still finds it in herself to help us.
Max is, well, Max. Completely irrational at times but one of the kindest and most thoughtful people I’ve encountered. Not to mention, if his blood saves my precious niece, Skylar, he wins at being the most useful of us all. Plus, have you seen him?
Don’t even get me started on Keith. He somehow has the characteristics of every person in this group. Genius is the best word to sum him up.
Even in a partial coma, Skylar provides the ability to keep the group together, eyes on the task at hand. She’s strong and brave, and I feel it in the deepest part of my soul that she will somehow make it out of this mess.
That leaves us with me. Good ol’ Wiley. Means well but manages to screw up everything. At least I can be the comedic relief. I do best just hanging back, helping where I can. Doing what I’m told but never really coming up with the plans myself.
This leads me to how I got here, sitting in this SUV next to Alex, on our way to God knows where to find a blood sample of a mind-controlled psychopath.
To say it gives me a tiny post-traumatic stress is a bit of an understatement. It’s not like I was captured, held against my will, and tortured by the very specific type of person we’re looking to find. But I can’t let myself succumb to that, because then I won’t be of any use to the group I am trying so desperately to fit in with, to help. This group is my family, and I will do what it takes to play my part.
I rub the spot around my wrists where not too long ago I was zip-tied to a chair and beaten for information. We make our way toward our destination and my eyes flicker to the window, trees zooming along one by one.
Alex exhales. “You ready for this?”
“Yep,” I gush happily. “What’s the plan?”
“If I’m not mistaken, I know where a group should be. Small operation, we should be in an out pretty quickly.”
Shit. We can’t afford quickly, I’m supposed to stall him, at least for the day.
“Shouldn’t we take our time? You know, do surveillance like they do in the movies and stuff?”
Alex laughs. “You think we’re going to just sit in here, eat snacks and watch videos on our phones?”
I shrug. “Doesn’t sound like the worst idea.”
“Do you know what’s going on?” he asks.
His question is so sudden and abrupt I don’t even fully understand.
“What?” I say, dumbfounded.
“Back at the cabin, everyone is acting weird. Do you know what’s going on?”
“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it seems there is some kind of apocalypse going on around us,” I say lightly, hoping it throws him off.
“Always you with the jokes.”
“What do you expect?” I laugh.
“Really, though,” he says, clearly not wanting to let the question go just yet.
“I don’t know, man. Everyone is freaking out about Skylar, for obvious reasons. She’s important to us all. I think we’re all a bit on edge,” I say seriously, fingers crossed that maybe this will get him to leave it alone.
“Yeah, maybe. It’s conveniently strange that Keith was keeping me in the loop and then all of a sudden had no more progress to tell me about.”
“That’s Keith for ya, though.” Why won’t he leave this alone?
“If you know something, you can tell me. I know they don’t take you as seriously as you’d like, but I can help you if you have information.”
He’s pushing hard, trying to get me to say something, to get me to crack. He’s using some strange psychological manipulation to pit me against them. Too bad for him that I’m not that stupid; I won’t fall for his tricks.
“Whoa now, you’re overthinking things. What do you think is happening at the cabin?”
“I can’t be certain, but I think there’s been progress made. Real progress.”
The way he verbalizes it sends chills through me. How does he know things by not knowing things? I know he’s savvy at reading between the lines, but how is he able to read them this well?
“I think they’d probably tell me if there was progress. Skylar is my niece.” I try not to be argumentative even though I’m lying my ass off.
“Unless you’re hiding it from me, too.”
I laugh out loud, playing my part as best as possible when I say, “I’m a terrible liar.”
30
Max
Something doesn’t feel right. I don’t feel right.
Hot and cold take turns washing over me, and the nausea from before we began hasn’t managed to subside. I want to say something; I should say something, but I can’t.
Moments ago, in between the songs playing through my headphones, I overheard Quinn tell Dad that Skylar’s vitals had improved.
I can’t wimp out now.
I have to hold on a little longer. Each step into agony is one step closer to saving Skylar.
Dad pops one of my earbuds out and asks, “You doing okay, champ?”
I swallow hard and nod, silently fighting the urge to vomit.
“You don’t look so good, are you sure?”
I have to put on a better show, make them believe that I’m doing better than I am.
“Yeah, I’m good.” I change the subject. “How are things going?”
“We’ve managed to transfuse around two units, maybe more.”
I have no idea what that means, nor do I know how to apply it to how things are going.
“Layman’s, Dad.”
“Right, sorry. I’d say we’re near the halfway point, and we’re making great progress. Skylar’s vitals are much more stable. Even so much as the color is returning to her cheeks.”
It’s then that I allow my gaze to wander to her face for the first time since we started. I’ve been so terrified something would go wrong that I’ve forced myself into solitude this entire time. He’s right, though, the color really has come back, not fully, but enough to make a drastic difference in the paleness from only a few hours ago. Her cheeks radiate a flushness I have ached to see in the last couple of weeks.