Chapter Three #2
I could take Tom Sullivan in a fight. I’m sure of it.
But I’m not sure what the point would be when I’m already stuck on this damn island.
Plus, there’s April. Despite my misgivings, one thing he said rings true.
If I want them to heal her, I need to play along.
We can worry about escaping once she’s better.
Tom looks oddly pleased when I finally pull out the chair and slide into my seat. “Wonderful. The guard marked hospital as one of the purposes of your visit. Am I right in assuming that’s the reason you’re seeking sanctuary?”
“Sure—I mean, yes.”
“Well, we all start somewhere.” He makes a few more notes. “I have given names for you and your sister. Do you have any family names or previous affiliations?”
“You mean a last name, right?”
“Exactly.”
“Hollins. Kayla and April Hollins.”
“Any other living family?”
“No.”
“Sorry to hear that. If you know your parents’ names, we like to record those details, too. Sometimes we’re able to link up missing family members or—”
“No one is going to link up with us. They’re dead.”
“Even so—”
“I saw their bodies.”
He looks up from the forms, a sad smile on his face. “Again, my condolences. But perhaps they had friends or other relations? Please, Ms. Hollins.”
I seriously consider stonewalling him. My dead aren’t his business. But the mention of friends has made me wonder if someone we knew back in Port Alberni might have ended up here after TNS sacked the settlement. “Andy Hollins and Genevieve Laclerc.”
“Wonderful. Now, I understand if you don’t have all the information regarding my next questions. But do you know your and your sister’s birthdates and birthplaces?”
“I’m twenty-five. Born in Port Alberni. Septemberish, I think.”
“Ah. Happy birthday to you, then.”
“Oh… thanks?” Shit, is it September? Am I twenty-six? It doesn’t matter. I press on. “April is about fifteen. Born in, well… spring. We didn’t really know, because—”
“Yes, that would be after Port Alberni fell. Sad day, that.”
It’s strange, hearing him talk casually about the day any semblance of safety was ripped from my life.
I’m more comfortable saying nothing about it at all, and since April has no memories of the place, I can usually get away with that.
Unfortunately, this guy is old enough to know the post-Quake history of the region.
The Quake damaged every city on Vancouver Island, but nowhere got the shit knocked out of it quite like my hometown.
Most other cities in the region were relatively protected in the Strait of Georgia, but not Alberni.
It sits on an inlet facing the whole Pacific Ocean.
After the Quake, the inlet funnelled the tsunami waters into a fifty-metre plume that wiped out everything.
Ironically, the damage saved the community, at least for a time.
TNS didn’t target us, because they assumed there was nothing left to steal.
For several years, survivors in the area were able to rebuild.
We had farms and houses, even a small school where my mum taught about thirty kids.
It’s strange to think how normal it all felt.
I was too young then to know how lucky I was.
When I was nine, TNS found out we were functional and attacked our colony. Death or cult. Those are the options.
“If you don’t mind my saying, you’ve been living in the woods a long time,” he says. “There wasn’t anywhere else between your time in Port Alberni and now?”
“Nope.” It’s a flat-out lie, but I have plenty of reasons to keep my mouth shut about Astolia.
First, there’s that story the Grand Astrologue told us about getting attacked by people in Salt Spring.
Granted, he was a real piece of shit, so I can’t blame the islanders for going after him, but I lived in his colony for over four years.
I don’t want to be painted with the same stripes as him if they are enemies.
But more important than that, my life isn’t Tom’s—or his government’s—business.
“Extraordinary. You’re quite the survivor.”
“Thanks.”
“So, you’ve had some time in civilization with traditional schooling, but your sister hasn’t?” asks Tom. “That’s a pity. I’m sorry you didn’t find us sooner.”
“She’s had schooling. My mum and I taught her stuff.”
“Of course, of course,” he says with a patronizing smile. “Well, she’ll have ample opportunity to catch up here. We require that all minors attend school.”
“Okay.”
“Our hope with all sanctuary cases is that they successfully integrate into life on the island. Sanctuary seekers are entitled to a ration card and housing. You and your sister will be placed with a host family, typically for a few months, who will show you how we do things here. Once you’ve had a chance to learn the ropes, you’ll be able to apply for your own housing and employment.
Then, provided every other step of the process goes well, you’ll be able to apply for citizenship in as little as a year. How does that sound?”
It sounds like more paperwork. Hopefully, April and I will be long gone before we have to deal with that circus. But that’s not the response this man is expecting, so I give him a thumbs up and say, “Great.”
“Now, I do have to inform you that while free health care is provided to citizens, we can’t offer that to sanctuary seekers,” he continues in the same officious tone he’s used for this entire meeting.
“We try to make the first visit to the hospital as affordable as possible, but you must understand, we’ve had too many cases of sanctuary seekers who take advantage of the hospital, then leave without providing value back to the community.
Much as we would like to help everyone, medicine is scarce these days, and we can’t afford to—”
“You want payment. I get it. We brought goods to trade. Pearl earrings.” I came prepared. The people at the riverside who told us about Salt Spring traded away food for a few shiny bits and bobs, so hopefully the same will go for medicine.
My answer pleases Tom, who nods. “Wonderful. We understand each other.”
“Can I see April now?”
“I’ll speak to the hospital staff. I just need the doctor’s evaluation, then we can complete this process.” He reaches out a hand. “Welcome to Salt Spring, Ms. Hollins.”
I accept the handshake, because why not? Between all the sanctuary seeker gibberish, he finally said something that makes sense. He’s the first person to mention payment. Sure, he coats his words in layers of bullshit, but he knows how the world really works.
He asks me to wait in this room, which I agree to. Playing along is working out well enough. I pace the dark room, wondering what’s going on with April. How long does it take to diagnose a condition? If only I had some idea how hospitals work.
A chorus of raised voices fills the hallway just beyond my door. The sound sends my pulse rocketing. It can’t be to do with April, can it?
Forget waiting around. I throw open the door without a second thought. But just as I’m stepping through, one of those frantic voices becomes crystal clear.
“See? Now she’s escaping!” It’s Tom Sullivan, his eyes wide and wild. The calm, slightly bored man of before is gone. The change startles me so badly, I don’t react with the speed I should. “Apprehend her!”
“Tom, this is a hospital!” Desk Lady shouts from somewhere behind him.
My reflexes kick into gear and I dive down the hall, looking for an escape.
The problem is, they’re blocking off the exit.
All I have access to is a maze of hospital hallways, which April may or may not be at the end of.
She could be in a totally different wing for all I know.
I grab a doorhandle at random and try to open it, only to find it locked.
As I’m wrenching on it, the click of a gun sounds behind me.
“Let go of the door, Ms. Hollins.” Tom Sullivan hurries forward as fast as his bad leg will allow, gun-toting lacky not far behind. “We need to have a discussion.”
I reel toward them and throw my hands in the air. I knew it. So much for promises of safety. “But why—”
“Medical records.” Tom holds up a sheaf of papers. “Doctor Tremblay’s report includes all medical interventions performed at the border. You’re going to tell me why he treated a slingshot wound on the back of our guard’s hand.”
“Oh.”
He gives me an insincere smile that lets me know I really am in deep shit. “I see we once again understand each other.”