Chapter 5
5
Recovered Journal of Dr. Georgia Clark
February 13, Year 1, Emergence Era
I can’t work like this... That’s not true. I can , but it’s hard, and I HATE it. I’m completely in the dark. Juno is even further away now. Even better, the first sample—the one that was supposed to turn Juno’s Miracle into reality—is garbage. Valen won’t budge on giving me another. He’s cold and rude and I think about punching him in the face more often than not. Asshole.
“ I didn’t think I’d find you out here.” Juno plops down beside me on the bench. “Plants were never your thing.”
“They were.” I shrug. “I just excelled at killing them. Houseplants are way more fussy than most people let on.”
She leans back and reaches for one of the pink rose blooms that hovers alongside the walk. The ground is littered with petals, and the air has a sweet scent mixed with the faintest bit of mildew. The grass is high in a few patches, and tree branches dot the wide lawn.
“I suppose I should get a new gardener.” She sighs and surveys the sunny spring morning, dew still coating the blades of grass.
I stare beyond the black iron fence toward the barricades, the soldiers atop them like toys at this distance. “I don’t think it matters.”
“It does.” She straightens her skirt, her suit a deep mauve. “We have to give the people hope.”
“How does cutting grass and trimming roses do that?” I doodle in my journal, cell structures and bits of thoughts on how to attack the Sierravirus.
“People believe what they see.” She sighs, her gaze now on the barricades. “If they see a governor’s mansion running efficiently, the grounds kept beautiful, their governor looking shiny as a new penny?—”
“Pushing it with that last part, aren’t we?” I give her a sly smile.
“Oh, hush.” She closes my journal and takes my hand in hers. “You know I’m the hottest governor this state has ever had.”
I can’t disagree. Not with Juno. Not when she’s still optimistic despite everything the world is going through.
“Yes,” she continues, “a new gardener. We used to have an entire crew.” She pauses then, the weight of what she’s said settling on her shoulders.
There isn’t a grounds crew anymore. Not now. Not when the virus rages all around us and strikes down anyone—weak or strong, young or old. The Sierravirus is the undiscriminating hand of Death. The great equalizer. No one is spared, not even people who spend their entire lives creating beauty from other living things.
“You going to the office today?” she asks, her gaze pensive.
“I’m on triage duty this afternoon. Figured I’d get a little fresh air before I head to the tents.” I watch a yellow butterfly float past, its wings iridescent when it catches a sunbeam.
“I wish you’d stop going.” She pulls her hand back and folds both of them neatly in her lap. Back straight, eyes clear, she’s always ready. Ready for what? I don’t know. Could be a photo op, could be a war of words with an opponent, could be anything. All I know is that Juno has always led the way, no hesitation.
“People need help.” I shrug. “I’d rather be there than just sitting here twiddling my thumbs or getting nowhere in my lab.”
“At least in your lab you’re safe.”
I don’t tell her how dangerous the university has gotten lately, how vagrants have crept into the places where students used to flourish. She worries enough as it is.
“I’m safe in the tents. Layers and layers of PPE—so much that I think I lose a few pounds in sweat every time I go.” I don’t look forward to the suffering, to the inevitable death I’ll witness this afternoon. But I can’t stop trying. I have to help in whatever ways I can.
She looks down at me, her brown eyes only slightly disappointed. “Don’t take any chances. Promise?”
“Promise.”
“All right. I’ve got to get back. Dallas is sending a delegation again.” She sighs. “If they don’t get their shit together, they’re going to fall apart. Infighting over resources like idiots.”
“You’ll straighten them out.”
Another butterfly floats past, this one deep crimson.
“You bet your ass I will.” She gives me a thin smile. “I always do.” Her suit begins to darken.
“Juno?” I blink, unsure of what I’m seeing.
“Hmm?” she asks.
“There’s something—” I point.
She looks down, then meets my gaze again. “It’s nothing.”
The darkness spreads. I realize it’s blood. So much blood.
“Juno!” I jump to my feet. “What’s happened?”
She backs away, her eyes going milky and gray.
“Juno!” I reach for her, following her as she falls backwards, disappearing into an explosion of crimson butterflies.
I jolt awake. Covered in cold sweat, my body trembling, I slowly realize where I am. Not at the governor’s mansion, not even in DC. I’m in Valen Dragonis’s underground castle.
What time is it? I sit up and wipe my brow with my sleeve. My body aches, and now there’s a gnawing sensation in my gut. Hunger.
Pulling the dark blue blanket around me, I wrap myself in it, then get unsteadily to my feet. Disoriented, I enter the hallway again.
I freeze when I see movement. A vampire approaches, her skin a light brown, her eyes shining catlike in the darkness. I step backwards into my room and close the door.
Not a second later, I hear her voice right outside. “I have your breakfast.” Her accent is mixed, somewhat English, somewhat American, and her voice has a lovely tone to it for a monster.
I swallow hard, unsure of what to do.
“Would you prefer I leave it out here?” she asks.
Agonizing moments go by before I find my voice. “Yes.”
“Not a problem. I’m Melody. If you need anything, simply pull the cord beside your bed.” I glance behind me and do indeed see a pull cord.
I wait there, standing against the door. I don’t hear her leave. Maybe she’s still there, fangs at the ready. It could be a trick. No, it has to be a trick. Why would one of them ever bring me food? Why would they serve me? In the cells, they’d have humans—filthy and bloody—bring meager rations and water. The vampires would never stoop so low as to offer us anything themselves.
Fear and hunger go to war inside me. My stomach growls, my knees feeling so weak that even leaning against the door seems precarious.
With a shaking hand, I grab the handle, and with all the quickness I can manage, I wrench the door open. The hall is empty. I sag against the doorframe, relief making me lightheaded as I look down at the tray of food.
Giving up the charade, I drop slowly to my knees and drag the tray into the room, closing the door soundly as soon as its inside. There is no lock, no way to bar the door, but this will have to do. I simply put my back against it.
A glass bottle of water with a silver top is the first thing I grab. It takes me far too many tries to unscrew the lid, but once I do, I drink deeply. At this point, I don’t care if it’s poisoned. I just need something in my stomach. Forcing myself to slow down, I take one more swallow then lift the golden lid of the tray. Inside are some simple things—crackers, hard cheeses, grapes, and some hunks of what must be ham. I eat slowly, my stomach aching as the food hits. The tastes are so much stronger, the food like an awakening. Nothing in the cell was ever like this. It’s as if I’ve forgotten what real food is like. Now that I’m remembering, I want to devour every last crumb. My stomach lurches as I reach for the last cracker, and I stop.
Taking deep breaths, I rest the back of my head on the door and focus on my breathing. Saliva floods my mouth, and my stomach cramps.
“No.” I grit my teeth. I can’t vomit right now. Not when I’m already so weak. Fuck, I shouldn’t have eaten so fast.
I keep breathing, but my stomach gives another warning lurch. Crawling to the bathroom, my body aching and gut twisting, I don’t make it to the toilet before everything I’d eaten comes pouring back out. I crawl the rest of the way to the bowl and heave.
It burns, acid in my throat and my mouth, as I purge until there’s nothing left. I rest my clammy forehead on the toilet seat for a long while.
When my stomach finally stops cramping, I crawl back to the door. The remaining food is still there, mocking me. I sip the water. Slowly. So fucking slowly it’s like I’m being tortured all over again. But this time I take small bites. It takes almost an hour of painstaking control, but I eat a small meal. For the first time in a long time, I feel almost full.
Still weak, I return to the bed and curl up again. Sleep takes me with ease, like a falling curtain across a dark stage.
I lose time. I don’t know how much. Over the course of what has to be a few days, I wake at intervals and often find food waiting for me outside my door. I eat. I sleep. I even bathe.
I get stronger, my body less achy each time I wake. New clothes have appeared in the closet, and the mess from the bathroom is gone. I try not to worry about whoever is coming into my room as I sleep. There’s nothing I can do about it, and I haven’t been harmed … yet.
Finding a way out is imperative, but I stick to my room. The thought of running into Valen again is enough to keep me inside—at least for now. But being alone in here is slowly driving me mad. All I do is think. And thinking about the past—the parts of it I can remember—causes nothing but a special sort of anguish. I don’t want to relive the horror of it, but I have to.
It’s all I have left.