Rebels

by Jill Williamson

  The door opened again. Naomi back with more water.

  “Put that one here on the floor.” Tova showed Naomi where. “And please empty that one and bring a new one.” She waved at the hand washing bowl.

  Naomi obeyed and was soon gone again.

  “Okay, now we check,” Tova said. “Medic, come learn.”

  Shaylinn couldn’t see the clock. She didn’t know how long she’d been doing this. But it seemed like days. Her whole body ached to the point that she really wasn’t sure where the pain was coming from anymore.

  Well, she knew, of course, but that didn’t keep the thought from coming to her each time a contraction took control of her body.

  Naomi had been sent for more bowls and towels. Shaylinn didn’t know why. She didn’t care. She just wanted the pain to stop.

  “Here comes another, Shayleen,” Tova said. “Soon. It will be soon.”

  Shaylinn gritted her teeth as the pain swarmed, burning and deep. She hated the Safe Lands for doing this to her. She hated Ciddah! And Omar too. Omar, who had abandoned her again and again.

  And then the contraction was gone. But not like before. Not completely gone. Now when the contractions left, she was left feeling bruised and beaten, like she was trying to recover but couldn’t. Another would come. It would never end! She would probably die.

  What if she died?

  “Shay.” Naomi took hold of her hand. “How are you? You want some water?”

  Shaylinn shook her head.

  “You’re doing good, sweetie. I’m so proud of you.”

  “I don’t want to die.”

  “Oh, no, Shay. That’s not going to happen. You’re doing great. Almost there, Tova says. Aren’t you glad she’s here?”

  Shaylinn was.

  The contractions came faster, seeming to possess her body. The agony was so intense she could barely breathe.

  “Time to push, Shayleen!” Tova said. “Push, girl. Now! Push, push!”

  Push? Shaylinn tried, swallowed with the effort. A faint moan slipped past her lips.

  Naomi’s face remained calm. “Good, Shay. You’re doing great.” Her voice was soft and soothing, her eyes focused on Shaylinn.

  As the pain grew more intense, so did the voices. Louder, excited. A chorus of demands.

  “Push! Push!”

  Squeals of joy.

  A light cry. An infant’s cry.

  “Okay, medic. You watch for the second baby.” Tova stood, holding a grayish pinkish squirming thing.

  Shaylinn saw blood. “It’s bleeding? Is it okay?”

  “Oh, yes, Shayleen. This is a strong boy.” Tova picked up a pair of scissors and cut the gnarly cord, then brought the baby to Shaylinn. “See your precious boy, yes? See how much you love this one. Just one look and see if you don’t.”

  A boy? It looked inhuman. An ugly doll covered in too much pinkish-gray skin that was slimy with blood and something white. Floppy arms and legs. Slimy black hair. Wrinkled slashes for eyes. A frowning mouth. His whole body fit in Tova’s hands, head in one, rear end in the other.

  He scared her.

  “Is he okay?” she asked.

  “Yes, love. He’s just fine. A fine boy.”

  He didn’t look fine. He looked weird.

  Tova handed the boy off to Naomi, who oohed and ahhed as if he looked just like a sweet little puppy. And then it was time to push again. And soon a girl arrived! But she looked as strange as her brother, though she was redder, it seemed, and louder too.

  But it still wasn’t over. And Shaylinn had to push again to expel the things that her babies had been living in all this time. Then Tova called Aunt Mary and Chipeta to hold the babies while she, Naomi, and Ciddah cleaned Shaylinn up. Once Shaylinn was settled in a new nightgown and a bed of fresh blankets, Aunt Mary gave her the boy to hold.

  He looked much better now that he was dried off. He had a tiny little head the size of her fist that looked to be all eyes. Deep brown eyes the size and shape of almonds. Those wide eyes locked onto hers, and Shaylinn smiled and touched her thumb to his cheek. His skin was so soft. Tears filled her eyes. She’d brought life into the world. This little person had come from her.

  So strange.

  The women started to argue then. Tova wanted Shaylinn to try and breastfeed the boy, but Chipeta said it was too early and Ciddah wanted to give him formula. And Chipeta said that breast milk was not merely food, but medicine for the babies’ little bodies. And Ciddah said that she was fed the formula and turned out fine.

  “Can I see the girl?” Shaylinn asked.

  Naomi was holding her now, and she sat on the edge of Shaylinn’s bed and helped Shaylinn take the girl in her other arm so that Shaylinn was holding both. The girl was even smaller than the boy. She looked better too now that she was dry, but her skin was still very pink. She had even more hair than her brother, but her face seemed perfectly proportioned. Little brown eyes, a tiny nose, small lips. Shaylinn looked from one to the other.

  “I like them.” And she did. Her heart felt full yet totally vulnerable.

  Naomi laughed. “I’m sure they’re glad to hear it.”

  “Do they have the thin plague?” Shaylinn asked.

  Ciddah broke off from her argument with Tova. “I don’t think so, Shaylinn. But I have no method of testing them down here. You should only hold them a little while, then put them in the incubator to sleep. They’ll need to spend a lot of time in the incubator. Several more weeks. You can take them out to feed and hold them, but they need to go right back in. They both look perfectly healthy, but there’s no fat on them. The incubator will help keep them warm until they bulk up a bit.”

  And so Shaylinn kissed her babies and then allowed them to be put in the incubator. She submitted herself to Tova’s lessons on how to hand pump breast milk so that the babies could be tube fed until they were old enough to learn to latch on.

  So much work still.

  Shaylinn realized then that her childhood was over. She was a mother now, and her only concern was for her babies. And she knew it would be her concern for the rest of her life, and that was okay because these two were part of her and she must do what was necessary to see that they were healthy and safe.

  And she would need to name them.

  And she wondered if they would ever see their father.

  CHAPTER

  28

  Lonn returned to bunk 2C the next morning, to Mason’s great relief. He had a blackened bruise under one eye, but other than that, he looked remarkably well. His attackers had come back too, and everyone was pretending that nothing had happened.

  “You okay?” Mason asked.

  “Me? Are you okay?”

  Mason nodded. “Tell you at breakfast.”

  Mason and Lonn went to the strikers’ cafeteria and sat by themselves at a table near the doors. Mason had gotten toast and orange juice. Lonn was eating a pile of scrambled eggs and bacon that looked to have more fat than meat. Mason filled Lonn in on Scorpion’s mercy.

  “Fortune saved you,” Lonn said.

  Mason had no desire to debate religious theories this morning. “I told Cadell about you.”

  Lonn frowned, his cheeks full with a bite of eggs. “Told him what?”

  “That you were here. He knows who you are, of course, though I had to fill him in on some of the more recent stuff. The Lowlands ColorCast doesn’t show any current events.” Not that you could trust the ColorCast reports, anyway. “I told him he should ask for you to be reassigned as a medic.”

  “It won’t happen,” Lonn said.

  “He’s been helping me. He let me build a lab, and I’m testing the meds. Cadell’s meds didn’t contain Xiaodrine but Inergia.”

  Lonn chewed thoughtfully. “That’s another amphetamine. For insomnia.”

  “That’s what Cadell said. He asked about compounding his own meds and was told no.”

  “Not surprising,” Lonn said. “But, Mason, you’re far too trusting. What do you really know about th
is man?”

  “That he fought to get me moved from the feedlot to the MC. That he’s still fighting to get my housing changed.”

  “So he says.”

  “Sometimes we have to trust people,” Mason said.

  “But are you certain you must trust him? Absolutely certain?”

  “I am. He helped get Omar ready for the balloon. He’s a good man, Lonn.”

  Lonn sighed and nodded in resignation. “Then I will trust him too, if given the chance.”

  Mason read the name of the stimulant from the blood meter. “This one has Focastat XR.”

  “That’s a new one,” Cadell said.

  “Another amphetamine?”

  “Yes, actually. That one is usually prescribed for patients who can’t focus. Try this one.” Cadell handed Mason a vial. “I’ll be back.” He left exam room two and shut the door behind him.

  Mason’s lab had grown. He’d taken the mattress off the bed and spread his experiment out over the metal surface and all along the counter. Cadell had sent him here the moment he’d arrived this morning with instructions to test another seven vials he’d gotten from patients. And since then he’d brought Mason the meds of every patient he’d seen that morning. Mason had tested a total of fifteen meds so far.

  He’d made a chart of his results. He’d put the patient’s ID on the far left, then the stimulant that was found in that person’s meds. He also made two more columns: one for the reason the patient had come to the MC and another for the patient’s overall health. Cadell had been filling those in as he came in and out between patients.

  Mason studied the results. Of the fifteen, three had the same Xiaodrine that had been found in Ciddah’s original meds, and three had Centralin, three had Excitare, four had Inergia, one had Validum, and one had Focastat XR. Mason could not yet see any patterns in the patients’ health, needs, or stimulant. They’d need to test many more meds to get such results.

  Tedious. But at least he was doing something.

  The door opened. Cadell set a vial on the counter. “Come out. Quickly. Two enforcers just arrived.”

  Mason left the room with Cadell and walked to bed three. “How are you feeling, Mrs. Silver? Is the pain still there?”

  The elderly woman looked up at him. “Oh, it feels much better, medic. Thank you. I just hate that my hands don’t want to work for me anymore. It’s the most frustrating thing. But the pain makes it so much worse.”

  Mason nodded, but glanced toward the lobby as the woman told him again how the pain made her drop things. Sure enough, two enforcers were walking around the counter now. Coming toward Medic Cadell.

  Mason’s heart thudded. They knew! How? There were no cameras in the private exam rooms. Had Cadell set him up?

  “I demand more information than that!” Cadell yelled. “Besides, you can’t just take my assistant and give me no replacement.”

  They’d come for Mason? Why? There was nowhere to run, so Mason walked toward them. “Is there a problem, Medic Cadell?”

  “These men have orders to take you into custody.”

  “On what charges?” Mason asked.

  “No charges,” the enforcer said. “The liberator wants to speak with you.”

  “Why?”

  “You think the liberator tells us his business? How’d you get to be a medic?”

  “Very well,” Mason said. “Before we leave, would you give me a moment to inform Medic Cadell about my patient’s needs?” He gestured to Mrs. Silver’s bed. “In private, please. Only a moment.”

  “Yeah, fine.” The enforcer jerked his head toward the lobby, and the two walked back that way.

  “Richark Lonn,” Mason said to Cadell. “He’s in the Strikers’ Bunkhouse in sector five. Room 2C. If I don’t come back, see if you can get him to be my replacement. He knows way more than me, anyway.”

  “What makes you think you aren’t coming back?”

  Mason grimaced and glanced at the enforcers. “Omar.”

  “This has never happened. Not as long as I’ve been liberator, and that’s been” — the man frowned and looked off to the side — “close to thirteen years now. I don’t know whether to shake your hand or write you off as dead.”

  “What exactly is happening that’s so rare?” Mason asked.

  “The task director wants a word with you.”

  “Write me off as dead.” Mason should have expected it sooner. Omar’s disappearance from the MC could not have gone unnoticed forever, and now that Mason was tasking there, they’d assume he had something to do with it.

  Fine. He only hoped they’d leave Medic Cadell alone so he could continue the experiments.

  Mason sat with the liberator until two enforcers arrived. It was the same two he’d met when he’d first entered the Lowlands.

  “Take him to the turnstile,” the liberator said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Both men looked terrified, as though Mason were an explosive device. Or maybe they simply knew that where Mason was going could not possibly be pleasant.

  Mason entered the turnstile like before, and when the door opened on the other side, two younger enforcers were waiting with Colonel Stimel.

  “Step forward,” one of the enforcers said. “Hands above your head.”

  Mason complied. The enforcers cuffed his hands behind his back and led him out the long hallway. They passed the room where he’d been scanned.

  “No scan this time?” he asked.

  “You’re not returning to the SC to task, Mr. Elias,” Stimel said. “Nothing you might have brought out from where you’ve been could cause any trouble. Not where you’re going.”

  “Knowledge is a powerful thing,” Mason said. “Do these guards know what’s through those doors?”

  “If he speaks again, stun him,” Stimel said.

  “Yes, General.”

  General? Mason’s eyebrows rose as he regarded the patches on Stimel’s uniform.

  “Someone had to replace General Otley,” Stimel said.

  The enforcers loaded Mason in the back of a transport vehicle similar to the one he and Omar had arrived in. This time, he had no ankle cuffs though, so he merely sat on the bench on the side of the vehicle.

  Eventually the truck started moving. It traveled a very long way, stopping and going again and again — at stoplights, perhaps? Mason could only guess that they were taking him to the Highlands Rehabilitation Center.

  But when the transport finally stopped and the back doors were opened, they were inside a building again, so Mason had no way of knowing if his guess had been correct.

  The enforcers led him to a small room and locked him inside. The room was a cement cube. Gray floors, walls, and ceiling. No bed, chair, toilet. This wasn’t a cell. Just a room in a place that no one could see.

  That thought sent his gaze searching for the yellow camera. He found it behind him, in the corner above the door.

  So, someone could see after all.

  His hands were still cuffed behind him, so he crossed his ankles and sank into a cross-legged position on the floor in the near middle of the room right beside a drain. That’s when he noticed that the floor wasn’t level but sloped toward the drain.

  The realization made his stomach tighten. This was the kind of room that could be hosed clean. How much blood had been washed down that drain? Would any of his follow?

  He supposed they’d left him here to worry, so he tried to use the time more wisely and prepare himself for the interrogation and torture that was likely to follow. He needed to give as much truth as he could. Creative lies would be difficult to remember if pain became a factor. They’d undoubtedly ask about Omar. As far as any cameras had recorded, Mason had last seen his brother in the MC when he was comatose. Perhaps if he kept that qualification in his mind, it would make the statement true for the lie detector. But if they asked about —

  The door opened. The rubber sweep on the bottom brushed dully over the concrete. General Stimel entered, the same two enfo
rcers behind him. One carried a lie detector box. The other a molded plastic chair with metal legs. He set the chair beside Mason, then the enforcers each grabbed one of Mason’s arms and pulled him up. Dropped him on the chair.

  The enforcer with the lie detector crouched at Mason’s side and reached for his bound hands.

  “It’s not there,” Stimel said. “It’s in the back of his neck now.”

  The enforcer stood and moved behind Mason. Cold plastic pressed against the back of his neck. A beep.

  “All set,” the enforcer said.

  “Thank you.”

  Such manners from the man about to interrogate him. So different from Otley. In looks too. Stimel was Otley shrunk by 5 percent, which might not sound like much, but it made a big difference. The man just wasn’t as scary.

  “Mr. Elias, where is your brother?”

  “Which one?”

  “Omar Strong?”

  “I don’t know.”

  A glance to the enforcer holding the lie detector. A nod.

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  On camera, Mason added, “In the MC.”

  Another nod.

  Excellent. Maybe Mason was smart enough to beat the box.

  “Was your brother awake the last time you saw him?”

  Awake? “Uh, no. He was in a coma.” But the hesitation had been enough. The enforcer shook his head.

  “Try again,” Stimel said.

  This man was smarter than Otley had been.

  “I don’t have to answer your questions,” Mason said, annoyed he was flustered so soon.

  Stimel cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

  What a way to word things. Mason eyed the second enforcer, who was leaning casually against the door, then looked back to General Stimel. “I’m sure.” Sure that he was about to experience a great deal of pain.

  “I don’t suppose you’ll tell us where Ciddah Rourke is, either?”

  “I don’t know where she is,” Mason said.

  A nod.

  “And the location of the survivors from your village?”

  “I can’t be sure where they are either. I’ve been gone for months.”