Melancholy: Episode 3

by Charlotte McConaghy

  “Really, sweetheart,” she murmurs. “I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

  “Whoever promised you that?”

  Raven looks at me briefly, and I actually see a hint of amusement in her eyes. She must be in a good mood. “Why do scientists study anything? To learn what they are, and figure out how to destroy them.”

  “Oh, lovely. I’m sure species destruction is at the forefront of every good scientist’s motives.”

  “They’re human,” Shadow says abruptly. “Not a different species.”

  We look down at the creatures. Their snarls and barks sound through the quiet, still morning air. But he isn’t wrong.

  Something catches my eye and I realize it is a female Fury who stands a few paces back from the wall, more still than the others. She’s watching me. The whites of her eyes are blood red, and when my gaze accidentally catches hers, she gives a very slow, very cold smile. It chills my core because in that expression there is calculation and worse – there is cunning.

  That’s when she scares the shit out of us all by taking a long breath of air through her nose and saying in a rasping growl, “Pure flesh.”

  “Christ!” Luke exclaims.

  “Did you know they could talk?” Raven demands.

  “We heard them once in the city,” he admits. “I’m not sure they all can.”

  I lean out over the wall, keeping my eyes on her. “What do you want?” I ask.

  “Einstein’s really proving her worth this morning,” Raven mutters. “She wants to eat you, dumbass.”

  I’m not convinced. Not about this one.

  Human indeed.

  *

  Luke has set up a pulley system so that when Raven finally manages to hook the Fury’s head with the noose, they can pull him up without any trouble. It is a shocking sight, for it looks like a hanged corpse dangling in the air like that. I am hoping fervently that it doesn’t decide to wake up before we can get it in a cage. Raven’s idea is to kill it here where it won’t be gobbled up, and then feed it to Ben. It’s all very disturbing.

  Once it’s on this side of the wall, Luke slings the creature over his shoulder and walks through the street with it. I follow closely, thinking him a reckless idiot to leave himself so vulnerable, but he is a man who doesn’t seem to know fear anymore. I’ve heard people talk in the Den of how he’s more than a man, and I pity them – and him – because he is more fallible at the moment than the lot of them put together.

  We watch as he puts the Fury on the floor of the lab. We stare at it. Raven draws her gun and squats beside its head.

  “Wait,” I say quickly.

  “What?”

  “’S’alright,” Luke murmurs, placing a hand on the back of my neck. Raven eyes it coldly, then turns and shoots the Fury in the head.

  “God, Raven,” I exclaim. “We could have given it an injection or something a bit more humane.”

  She glances at me as though I am a child and doesn’t bother responding.

  Inside the cage Ben begins to scream. It’s awful because it doesn’t seem like he cares if he shreds his voice completely. I wonder if they feel pain anymore. It occurs to me that we are about to feed a person to another human being. We’ve become barbarous, out here in the west. It’s full on Lord of the Flies. Maybe there is a beast … maybe it’s only us.

  Raven and Luke roll the body to the door. I open it carefully and they try to shove the Fury in, but Ben is hurling himself at the opening and it’s all very chaotic for a moment as they try to push the corpse inside against the blunt force of a savage beast. They manage to get it in and re-lock the door.

  It’s only after Ben has determined that he can’t get out that he sets upon the other Fury, tearing at it with teeth and hands.

  I look away, nauseous.

  “Did you see that?” Luke asks.

  “Uh – yeah,” I reply.

  “No, Ben didn’t want the dead body as much as he wanted what’s outside the cage.”

  “Why is that surprising?” Raven asks.

  “Because animals go for the kill that’s closest and easiest. He was having food delivered to him on a platter and he didn’t want it.”

  I think of the female Fury and the look in her eyes. “I don’t think he is an animal,” I say. “At least, I think he’s a lot smarter than one. I think they all are.”

  *

  I go to the training room and punch the bag. The meditation has been helping, so Luke’s finally started teaching me combat. The lessons are all about how to use my size and weight and speed against an opponent, most of whom will inevitably be bigger and stronger than me.

  Luke appears silently to watch. He’s all hopped up on testosterone – I can feel it in the air, in the way he’s watching me. The virus is making him mindless, someone who wants to fight and hunt and break stuff all the time. The speed at which he’s changing is really scaring me and I’ve taken to hassling Meredith night and day about her progress on the antidote for him. She is tight-lipped, and it’s driving me up the wall.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Lazy,” he accuses my punches.

  So I turn and punch him. He’s too quick, so my fist sails straight by his head. Luke grins and launches himself into the fight, jabbing at me swiftly. I manage to block him but I’m on the back foot now, and he has the advantage. Who am I kidding? He would have the advantage against me even if he had no arms and legs.

  I track back, blocking his heavy blows. I step into the punch like he taught me and go for his sternum. I’m blocked so I go for his face with two quick right crosses. Blocked again, and again. But at least I’m managing to refrain from being hit.

  He catches my arm and pulls me in close so he can send a blow into my kidneys. It’s embarrassingly light. I sweep out with my legs to try to knock him off his feet but I just kick hard shinbone and it hurts my foot.

  Dropping suddenly, I manage to wriggle out of his grip and scramble out of the way of his next attack.

  We have an audience now. Several trainees and a few of the soldiers are watching us delightedly.

  I’m not strong, and I don’t think I ever will be, but I’ve learned over the last couple of months that I’m fast. I force my mind to stay in my body and I dodge out of the way of a massive head kick Luke sends at me. I try my luck at ducking in close to him and hitting him in the guts. The punch doesn’t land – he blocks it, but I hear him breathe, “Nice one.”

  Mostly what I’ve discovered from boxing is that you get really sore forearms. Luke gives mine a hammering today, but he doesn’t land too many body blows, and by the time he finishes with a flourish and slams me onto my back, I feel positively proud. Despite the complete lack of air in my lungs.

  Until someone shouts, “Ever landed a punch, Dual?”

  My good mood evaporates and I shove Luke off me.

  “Take a knee,” he orders. Every time we have a sparring session he finishes it with a rule or two. I crouch on the mats, and he crouches before me. “Stop hesitating,” he tells me. “You hesitate and you lose.”

  “It doesn’t feel real,” I admit. “When we spar. I can’t believe it enough.”

  “Then find a way to make it real. It is real. Don’t worry about me – respect me enough to come at me as hard as you can. It’ll mean the difference between life and death for you one day.” He leans forward. There’s a trickle of sweat moving down the side of his temple. “You’re still protecting yourself more than anything. You can’t be concerned about protecting yourself.”

  “Isn’t that half the fight? Blocking and stuff?”

  “The fight isn’t about your pain,” he says firmly. “It’s about his pain. You’re going to get hurt. It doesn’t matter, because the only purpose of your existence in those minutes is to hurt him more than he hurts you.” He holds my eyes. “Are you hearing me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sometimes you have to take a terrible wound to inflict an even worse one. That’s an important thing to reme
mber. You can’t be afraid of it.”

  “I’m not,” I tell him softly. I’ve been hurt. I’ve taken wounds. I’ve known a lot of pain. It shouldn’t scare me anymore – I should be free of it by now. I don’t think Luke believes me, though.

  “I want to go back to the city,” I tell him, my voice low. His eyes narrow and he leans in. “I don’t give a shit about Raven’s rule anymore – come to my place tonight so we can make a plan.”

  Luke cracks his knuckles and then nods.

  *

  I don’t know how I get through the afternoon of work. I am so distracted that I move at half my usual speed along the planting rows. My mind is eighty percent focused on a mission to the city, twenty percent focused on my complete sexual frustration. I never imagined that if Luke and I got back together we would basically have to not be together. He and I haven’t had sex since last year before the last blood moon, and that’s feeling like a very, very long time ago.

  “You’re really grossing me out,” Pace observes at one stage, and I realize I have been daydreaming and washing my hands under the tap with slow, sensual movements. Maybe it’s not quite eighty/twenty.

  Cheeks flaming, I jerk away from the tap and let her wash.

  “Why don’t you just apply for breeding permission?”

  “Breeding permission? Because I’m not a cow.”

  “Cows don’t apply for permission,” she points out mildly.

  “You’re right,” I agree. “Applying for permission to have sex is so disgusting that not a single species on the planet does it, except for, of course, the poor freaks who live in The Inferno.”

  “At least you’re not out there, struggling to survive,” she says. “Or in the city.”

  “You know what? The city was better than here.”

  She stares at me, her mouth falling open. “That is such bullshit, Dual,” she snarls, and I realize I’ve really offended her. “The city steals pieces of you!”

  The people in the garden behind us all look over to see what the shouting is about.

  “Okay,” I murmur carefully. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

  Pace shakes her head.

  “But it’s not perfect here either.”

  “Of course it’s not perfect! We don’t get to have everything!”

  “Why not?” I ask and she stops. Frowns. Doesn’t understand me. “Why shouldn’t we get to feel everything and have everything? Like, basic human rights.”

  “It’s a basic human right to have sex?”

  “Hell yes!”

  Our eyes hold and then she drops hers to the ground. It can’t be a good feeling to have had your one and only sexual experience be with a man you love who didn’t feel the same and is now dead. In fact, it must be complete anguish.

  “You and Hal – ” I start.

  “Had sex once, when he was drunk and I wasn’t, and I have no way to tell if it was horrible or not.”

  I pick at the dirt under my nails. “Well. Did you enjoy it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s not a trick question, Pace.”

  “Yes,” she says slowly. “Sort of.”

  “Did he enjoy it?”

  “How should I know? He was gay so probably not.”

  I fall silent. A taut moment stretches out.

  “Did you know?” she asks me, the one question I’ve been dreading.

  “Yes,” I answer.

  “For how long?”

  “Not long.”

  “Did he tell you?”

  “No. I saw him.”

  “After … he and I … ?”

  “Yes, after. And only a day before he was killed. I … It wasn’t my truth to tell.”

  Pace looks ready to vomit, she is so pale. “I feel so humiliated,” she whispers. “To not know something like that – ”

  “Nobody knew.”

  She shakes her head. “I was his best friend. I should have. So that I could support him.”

  “We don’t …” I clear my throat. “We can’t know people absolutely. There will always be pieces of us that we keep from each other. But do you know what my last conversation with him was about?”

  Pace watches me mutely.

  “He said we needed to take care of each other. He said you were the only person who he felt truly took care of him, and that it was a lifeline for him. He said he loved you. And that was the last conversation I had with him.”

  Pace moves a hand to her chest and sinks to the ground. She is trying so hard not to cry. It’s agonizing to watch. When she looks up at me she says, “Dual, I’m pregnant.”

  *

  I forego the lab and the training and I stay home with Pace. She has been completely uncommunicative ever since telling me. But I can’t help feeling awash with excitement. While she does push-ups in the living room, I take inventory of both our bedrooms, and all the space in the house. It is more than big enough to house a baby.

  “What are you doing?” she finally asks when she sees me peering at her cupboard space.

  “Just working out what will go where.”

  “Huh?”

  “With the baby.”

  Pace squints at me suspiciously.

  “I’m just daydreaming,” I admit. “I wanted to imagine where it would go, and what we’d do with the house …”

  Luke arrives at the door. “Hey …” He stops when he sees Pace and I watching each other like hawks.

  “Was that wrong?” I ask my roommate.

  Luke stalls awkwardly near the door.

  “Josi,” Pace says, and it strikes me that it’s the first time she’s used my real name, and it worries me. “I’m not keeping it.”

  I take a slow breath. “Why?” I ask.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Are you one of those pro-lifers?” she snaps.

  “No. Really, not at all.” I shake my head. “I’m just asking you why.”

  “Because Hal’s dead,” she says. “And I’m alone.”

  “You’re not alone.”

  “Don’t. It’s not the same and you know it. I don’t want a child. I’ve never wanted a child. I’m too young.”

  “But it’s so rare to be able to bring a baby into the world without fearing it will be cured,” I say. My heart is beating in panic. She doesn’t understand the magnitude of this. “This is precious,” I utter. “This baby is a treasure.”

  “I don’t know if I’d be able to love it,” she exclaims. “That’s not a treasure. Bringing a child into a home that doesn’t want it. That’s a tragedy.”

  I swallow. My chest feels enormous. “I’ll raise it,” I whisper. “I’ll do it.” Because the truth is that when she told me she was pregnant, the reality of how much I want a child of my own hit with painful clarity.

  Pace stares at me.

  I feel shattered on the inside, destroyed with hope. A moment takes me, a big moment, and in it I turn to look at Luke. Even though I would want the baby alone, there is also a part of me that knows the decision is not only mine, but his as well.

  Luke Townsend looks at me across the room. He holds my eyes, and I know he understands, and then he nods.

  I have no space in my heart for the gratitude I feel for him, for the love.

  I turn back to Pace. “We’ll take the baby, if you want. We’ll love it.”

  Pace shakes her head desperately. “You’re not thinking straight,” she says. “We didn’t have clearance for procreation. Hal was killed for it. I’ll be killed for it. They’ll let me have the baby and then they’ll punish me with exile.”

  Oh fuck. I didn’t even think. The air leaves my chest in a rush.

  “You have no idea what you’re actually asking me,” Pace says and goes to bed with a slam of her door.

  I close my eyes. Try to get a hold of the ridiculous floundering hope inside me. It isn’t fair, and it isn’t realistic. I know this.

  Hands brush my cheeks, my jaw, my neck. Hands I know very well. I tilt i
nto his touch and open my eyes.

  “I love you, Josephine Luquet,” Luke says, “And whether it is this baby or not, you and I will have children.”

  I kiss him.

  *

  Luke

  I lie on Josi’s bed with her. We face each other, hands touching.

  “We’re not permitted to breed,” she says with a smile.

  “I’m a rebel.”

  “That’s why I like you.”

  “Oh yeah? How much do you like me?”

  “Medium.”

  I laugh, tracing my hand over the curve of her hip.

  “Luke,” she says. “Can you tell me about your parents?”

  “You’ve met my parents. You have dinner with them every night.”

  “I want you to tell me secret things about them. Things from your childhood. Real things. Things from before the cure.”

  I lie still for a while, thinking about the question and the answer. About how uncomfortable it makes me, about how thoroughly I would have avoided it had this been during our first relationship. But that was the relationship full of lies, and I need to build something else. My hand moves up to gently thread through her thick, dark hair.

  “Mom has pink cheeks. They’re pink no matter what. She made eighteen cups of tea a day. Every problem in the world was solved by cups of tea. But she was smart, too. She knew how to talk stuff through, and I always had this sense that everything she said was inherently true. She could deal with anything – usually injuries. Her laugh was very high-pitched. And unexpected. She loved listening to Motown music and blues. She had great stories from her childhood, which she relished telling us. Dave and I always got sick of them, but they were good. I drove her nuts ’cause I was always pulling things apart so I could figure out how they worked and then never putting them back together.” I smile, thinking about all the times she threatened to punish me and then never did.

  “She was an excellent woman,” I say simply. “She’s only a few hundred yards away but I miss her terribly.”

  Josi’s hand moves to my cheek, her thumb stroking gently. “And your dad?”

  “He was a philosopher in worker’s clothes. Had all the best sayings for every occasion. I have absolutely no idea how he came up with them because I never once saw him crack a book. But he was a perfectionist. Good at everything with his hands. God, the stuff he used to build was so beautiful I didn’t understand how it was possible. His hands were dry and perpetually covered in dirt. It gets under his fingernails and you can’t get it out – I’m not kidding. That dirt is there forever. I tried to scrape it out once when I was a kid but there was no moving it. He said he wished his hands were as soft as mine. He also paid me a dime to scratch his feet.” I start to laugh. “Man, he loved it. My fingernails weren’t sharp enough so he made me use bottle caps. I really used to dig in.”