Chapter 14
14
Recovered Journal of Dr. Georgia Clark
May 23, Year 1, Emergence Era
It’s late. Valen just left. He was worse off this time, so bad that it would kill a regular person. A human. Not him, of course. He’ll survive. I’m beginning to think he’s just humoring me when I try to repair the damage he takes night after night. He won’t tell me how it happens, only that he’s at war—that we’re all at war, whether we recognize it or not. I’m not a soldier, not a fighter. I’m a healer. Not that it will matter if the vampires decide I’m expendable. Will there be a night when he comes for my life? When he shows up with his usual arrogance and ends me with boredom in his eyes?
“ T his isn’t so bad as far as picnics go.” Evie lies back on one of the hotel blankets we spread out beneath the cherry trees. They’re leafed out now, giving us shade and privacy from the tall buildings along Pennsylvania Avenue. Bits of white fluff from some tree deeper in the park float past and land in Aang’s dark hair as Wyatt strums his guitar somewhat aimlessly. It’s nice to get out of the lab sometimes. Even nicer to pretend the world is still chugging along like it did before the plague. I imagine a group of Girl Scouts coming up the avenue, their tour guide explaining landmarks as a harried chaperone tries to keep them away from traffic. But there are weeds growing in the pavement cracks now, and not a soul along the wide avenue.
Gretchen pulls her backpack around from the rear of her wheelchair and unzips it. “Gene packed us some chicken salad. He muttered something about expiration dates, but I didn’t question him further.” She hands me a loaf of bread wrapped in parchment paper. “If we get botulism, I guess it’s all just part of the plan.”
“Gross.” Aang wrinkles his nose.
“It’s fine. Gene wouldn’t poison us.” I lay out the sliced bread along the side of my blanket, then take the proffered chicken salad container.
“He wouldn’t poison you ,” Aang says pointedly. “But I think I’m fair game.”
“Maybe if you didn’t get onto him all the time for tidying up your pigsty of a desk, you wouldn’t have to worry,” Evie chides, the sun dappling shades of gold along her blonde hair.
Gretchen glances around at the empty streets and even emptier buildings. “We should talk business now while we can. Wouldn’t want any of the soldiers to overhear.”
“Can we eat first?” Aang takes Gretchen’s backpack and digs around before pulling out some carrot sticks. “Is there ranch?” He digs more. “Shit, no ranch.”
“We’re lucky to have this much.” I finish making the sandwiches and hand them out. “Gene always gets us what he can.”
Wyatt starts humming a tune and playing along, the melody familiar though I can’t put a name to it.
A hum vibrates through the air, the noise sudden and jarring. Then a helicopter buzzes overhead, and I freeze.
“Your sister?” Evie asks.
Glancing up and catching the glint of the Air Force One colors, I give her a quick nod.
“Is she going to meet with them ?” Gretchen whispers.
“Probably.” A sinking feeling in my gut kills my appetite. Juno’s flying into danger. Every moment spent with Gregor and his monsters is like playing Russian Roulette. I’m afraid that it’s only a matter of time before the gun goes off, before the helicopter returns without a passenger.
“Hey.” Evie takes my hand and squeezes it. “She’ll come back.”
I clear my throat. “I know. She’ll be all right.” I know I’m not particularly convincing, but Evie doesn’t press. She gives me a small smile and returns to her sandwich.
“Not bad, I guess.” Aang chews his thoughtfully. “Now, to work.” He leans in closer. “I ran the proteins we all agreed on for the new blood sample. Same results as before. Nothing. No interaction. It’s like the blood doesn’t recognize the markers that normally affect human cells. I can’t even find a starting point for a vaccine.”
“Same for viral interactions,” Gretchen adds. “Nothing.”
“Wyatt, what other viruses do we have in the containment lab to experiment with? Did CDC send us everything we asked for?”
He stops singing and looks up in thought, his shaggy hair falling back by his ears. “They sent most, I think. More should be coming as long as the supply line between here and Atlanta holds up. Um, let me think… We haven’t tried the sixth series of coronaviruses, but that’ll take a while to get synthesized. There’s also an entire library of cold and flu strains. Again, it’ll take a lot of work to get them ready to try on the vam—” He stops himself. “The alien blood.” He does a big Scooby Doo sort of wink. “But I’ll get started on them after lunch.” He glances down at the sandwich. “Speaking of …”
Gretchen wheels a little closer and leans forward. “How about what you’ve been working on?” she asks me.
“Nothing.” I chew slowly, savoring the food, the company, the warm air tinged with the scent of early summer blossoms. “Sunlight works to destroy the cells, but beyond that, I haven’t found anything that’s permanent. Acid, bleach, alcohol—you name it. The cells wither, but they never fully die off.”
“We’ll keep at it,” Evie says brightly despite the dark circles under her eyes.
We’ve all been working long hours. They’ve been searching for a cure, a way to finally end the plague. That’s what I came here to do. But now, given everything I know, everything I’ve witnessed, my mission has changed.
I’m not looking for a cure anymore. I’m looking for a poison.
I wake in pain, my head splitting as a gurgled scream erupts from my throat. I taste blood. I must’ve bitten my tongue. It’s black in my room, not a shred of light. Then I realize it’s not the room, it’s my vision. I can’t see, the agony in my head hitting a crescendo. I grip my temples, my entire body rigid.
I can’t inhale or exhale. Can’t move.
“Let it go.” Someone’s voice through the darkness. Distorted. Twisted in sound, as if my ears can’t process anything. My sight, my hearing—it’s gone, all eclipsed by the raging fire in my temples.
“Let it go,” it says again.
Tears run down my cheeks, my fingers in my hair trying to yank the pain out.
“Breathe.” More urgently this time.
Opening my mouth wide, I gasp in a tortured breath, my lungs burning, my entire body rigid.
“Again.”
I let it out and drag in more air.
“Again.”
The excruciating pain finally begins to recede. I’m freezing, covered in cold sweat, and I still can’t see anything. My muscles shudder, a cramp forming in my calf that tears a pained moan from me. I writhe against the sharpness of it, my body aching.
“Georgia.” A palm against my cheek, swiping away my tears. “Let it go. Whatever you saw, whatever it is. You must let it go.”
“I can’t,” I choke out. I don’t want to. Whatever it was, I have to hold onto it. To remember . But even as I say it, the tendrils of the dream slip through my fingers. Who was I with? There were trees and faces. Friends. Secrets. I reach for them, wanting to clutch them to my chest. But they fall away, water circling a drain until there’s nothing left but a slick residue. When the image is just a blur of colors, my body finally relaxes, the cramp unwinding.
I don’t move for a long time. My hands are balled, clutching the blanket. When I finally force them open, my knuckles twinge and pop.
My vision returns slowly, the darkness receding to the edges of my vision before disappearing completely. I’m in my room. In my bed. And I’m alone. Did I imagine the voice? I test both my hands, then move my legs. A rudimentary check to see if I’ve suffered a stroke. Though sore, everything works. Not a stroke as far as I can tell. I’ve no history of seizures.
With pained effort, I sit up. My oversized t-shirt sticks to me, cold sweat giving me the shivers as I rub my eyes.
“What the fuck?” I say out loud, testing my voice. It’s raspy, but the words make sense. No slurring.
A night terror? Sleep paralysis? My mind goes into doctor mode trying to diagnose what the hell just happened. It certainly could be either of those things, brought on by stress, exacerbated by my recent exertions during the escape attempt.
I jump when a soft knock sounds at the door.
“May I come in?” Melody asks.
“Y-yes.” I grab the hem of my shirt and wipe my face as she walks in, her face drawn.
“Are you all right?” She hurries over to me, sitting on the bed without invitation as she peers into my eyes. She hands me my glass of water from the nightstand, then rises and goes to the bathroom. “You were screaming.”
“You heard me?” Then I scoff at myself. “Right, of course you heard me, super vampire hearing.”
“Yes, though I daresay anyone in the castle would’ve heard it, human or otherwise.” She returns with the bottle of pain medicine. “Take these.”
“I think I’m okay.” I press my palm to my forehead and rub in a circle. “It was a dream. A nightmare, I guess.”
“What was it about?” She drops two pills into my other hand.
I down them then follow with a too-big gulp of water that makes me cough and sputter. She takes the glass from me, then pats me on the back until I recover, kindness in her touch and concern in her eyes.
“Thanks.” I relax against the headboard, my body tired and aching. It’s like I’ve run a marathon at full speed, but I was only sleeping. And dreaming. “I don’t remember.”
“Nothing?” she asks.
I clench my eyes shut and try to find clues, but when I think about the dream, the headache amps up. “I can’t,” I gasp and shut the door to whatever that memory might be. “It hurts too much.” I focus on the here and now, on Melody as she looks at me with worry.
“I’m sorry.” She takes my clammy hand in hers.
That one kind act makes my eyes smart, tears threatening. I swallow them back and wish them away.
“This isn’t natural.” I wipe my face again.
“Hm?” she asks, her gaze assessing me. “You’re even paler than usual. I can count every freckle on your face.”
“This pain.” I let my hand drop and sag against the headboard again. “It doesn’t behave like anything I’ve ever had to treat. A concussion, head trauma—that can cause short-term memory loss, sure. Some people even experience more symptoms, their brains losing several functions over time, especially if the injury is repeated. CTE studies were quite clear on the effects of concussions over time. But this is different. The pain is real, but it’s not from an acute injury. It’s almost … psychosomatic.” It’s like I’m back doing rounds for my residency, trying to figure out what I’m looking at with no clues from the attending. I’m rambling. Talking it out more to myself than Melody. “It has to be caused by trauma, by something that happened to me though I can’t remember it. Whitbine’s torture…” I think back to when it started, when I was caught and dragged into that cell with the others. He always had a particular interest in me. I thought it was because I was Juno’s sister, but maybe there’s more I’m not understanding. Like a picture that’s out of focus, the figures in the distance only smudges of suggestion. “If only I could remember.”
“Let it go.” She squeezes my hand.
My gaze snaps to hers. Something about that phrase tickles the edges of my consciousness. Was it in my dream?
“I’ll run you a bath. I always feel better after a bath.” She disappears into the en suite, and soon the sound of running water greets me.
With an only slightly shaky hand, I take the glass from my nightstand and drink. My nerves slowly settle, though I’m still not completely at ease. Whatever the dream was, it’s gone. The only tufts remaining have dissolved like cotton candy in water.
My joints are tender from strain, the spot where I had the cramp promising to be bothersome for the next few days, but I crawl out of bed and follow Melody into the bathroom. I strip without fanfare and sink into the tub.
“The water all right?” she asks.
“Perfect.” I look up at her. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” She drapes a towel on the warming rack. “I’ll be back later. Your dress is ready.” She avoids my gaze. “If it needs any last-minute alterations, I’m all right with needle and thread. Not great, but I can sew?—”
“What’s going to happen to me at the ball?” I ask. I’m tired of avoiding it, of dancing around whatever dark fate is waiting for me. I let my head rest on the tub and close my eyes. Maybe she’ll be more inclined to tell me the truth if she doesn’t have to look me in the eye.
She stands silently, the only sound in the room the slow drip—drip—drip from the faucet. “I … I don’t know,” her voice is faint.
“So this could be it?” I say it so conversationally, like ‘I could die tonight, what’s for dinner?’ or ‘I might be murdered in myriad gory ways, but isn’t the weather nice?’ It’s as if my emotional switches have all been overloaded. I’m out of tears, wrung out like wet laundry hung on a line. Perhaps I’m finally numb.
“No.”
“No?” I look at her.
“This isn’t the end.” She picks a piece of invisible lint from the towel. “I know that for certain.”
“How?”
“Do you need anything else?” she asks. “I’ll go fetch your gown and a few other things.”
“Melody.” I sit forward and pin her with a stare. “How do you know?”
“Because you are Valen’s guest.”
“But Valen has to do whatever Gregor says!” I snap. “If Gregor tells him to gut me, he’ll gut me. Right?”
She wrings her hands. “I’ll return.”
“Melody!” I call for her, but she’s already out the door, her speed almost blurring her figure as she escapes. “Fuck!” I slap the water, splashing it onto the floor. Childish. Stupid. With a frustrated groan, I sink beneath the surface, holding my breath as my thoughts spin out of control. I have to rein it all in, to squash it down with all the other things I can’t bear to think about. When I finally emerge, lungs burning, head finally beginning to clear, I breathe in deeply.
Melody’s assurances are empty. Gregor could rip me in half, and no one would do a thing to stop him. Not Valen. Not Melody. I’m on my own. The sooner I remember that, the better.
Turns out I’m not numb after all. The rage that’s kept me company since I found myself in the cell is alive and well and burning brightly for Gregor and all his minions.