Chapter 2
We bust through the door of our unit. Mom immediately rushes to her work desk, looking for something.
“Aha!” she says, finding some kind of meter, electric and small.
I sign, What’s that?
“I want to find out what these things are,” she says, “once and for all.” She shoves the little device into her pocket and starts scrabbling through her desk again. “There’s got to be something you can use with a screen. Or even just a pen and paper–”
“What are you doing?” Tara says at the door. “We’ve got to run!”
“Coming right now,” my mom says, picking up a pad and a pencil. She shoves these into my hand. “It’ll have to do for now, baby.”
“What are those things?” Margery Wingard says, storming into our quarters past Tara. “And where have they taken my son?”
“Wild guess?” my mom says. “They probably aren’t bacteria.”
“You did this, Viola Eade,” Margery Wingard says, her voice harsh and fierce. “You brought this on us. With all your doubt and your tolerance of these animals.”
“You need to get out of my way right now,” Mom says, and if Margery Wingard knew anything at all about my mother, she’d know that tone of voice offers no second chances.
“We are alone here,” Margery Wingard says. “And instead of siding with your own people, instead of helping us find a way to dominate the Spackle, you tried to make us be like them. If you had your way, we’d all be living in huts and wandering from river to river!”
“As opposed to having to listen to you whine all day? Most people would take that deal. Now get out of my way.”
Margery Wingard grabs a fistful of my mom’s coat. “They’ve taken my son.”
My mother punches her square between the eyes. Margery Wingard falls immediately, mostly out of outrage, I think, because I could see Mom pull that punch right at the last second. Margery Wingard is shrieking and grabbing her face, but Mom stops over her, looking down.
“I’ll only say this once, Margery,” Mom says. “I’m going out there to find a solution. You can either get in my way again and find out what a real punch feels like, or you can run and get yourself out of my life altogether.” Without even waiting for a response, she says, “Come on, Ben.”
She runs out of the unit, me on her heels. I watch Tara, still awestruck at the punch, as we pass.
When I look back, she’s following us, too.