Chapter 17 #3
Brian could change that, with what he’s building here. But I get the feeling that’s not where this is heading.
“I thought you had to be kind of smart to be a nurse,” he grumbles.
“If I cut you, it heals. If you don’t eat for a week, you’ll be miserable, but you’ll survive.
All we actually need to live is a little blood.
Which is hard to come by, sure, but that isn’t proof we’re weak.
It’s proof that we’re living in a world designed to keep us weak.
It’s not our fault we’ve been set up to fail.
Think about it. If they knew what we could do to them, we’d get all the blood we asked for, and not just that.
We’d get the respect we deserve. Oh yeah. Just imagine.”
“They should know,” he adds as he snaps another lid back into place. “They should be afraid.”
A couple of weeks ago, a fourth-grade girl came into the ED with a concussion. Fell off the monkey bars funny. She had such long eyelashes, and she looked at me like I was a snake and she was the mouse I’d hypnotized right before devouring it. I wonder if that’s what I look like now, to Brian.
“Well, I.” I stop myself. We need him. “I don’t know.”
“This”—he nods at the aquariums—“is temporary. Once I’ve got the process perfected, that’s when the next phase starts.”
“It’s not…” How to phrase it? “Is it safe? To inject?”
It must be, right? How else could he survive living out here all alone? But I don’t like the sound of an imperfect process.
Brian’s brows draw down. I imagine a scowl growing under his mask.
“Do I look like an idiot? Of course it’s safe.
I’m not some jerk who watches YouTube videos about science.
I’ve been doing this for twenty years. More, actually.
I got into tissue engineering when I was in grad school, got a PhD, worked in a lab, whole nine yards.
Administration would tell you I had a mental breakdown at the end, but really, I just decided I was through, and ready to come out here and do the rest on my own.
” The mask muffles his chuckle, but I get the gist: pride, cynicism, superiority.
“Like I said, it’s almost ready. And then, well, I’ve got my own water, lots of scrap metal, plenty of land.
I’m going to be smart about who gets to share it, obviously.
Only the best evolved of us, the toughest. The ones who get it.
Now that’s the kind of community worth building. ”
I remember the motto upstairs. Defend and advance. Is he, in this moment, trying to determine if I’m one of the good ones? One of the ones who get it, who want to—what? Build a militia of creatures like us? Get the respect we deserve?
“What’s your mom got?” He asks. “Brain cancer? Alzheimer’s?”
She’s not the best of us. She won’t be allowed into Brian’s grotesquely optimized future. I lean in close to one of the aquariums, as if I’m so interested by what’s inside that I’ve forgotten to answer the question.
From behind me, I hear a wet, sucking sound.
Brian grunts, maybe at me or maybe at whatever made the noise.
“Okay, don’t tell me. She’s got you trained pretty good, hasn’t she?
” In the space between sentences, his voice sharpens.
Becomes nastier. “If you want my advice, I’d say, remember that it’s natural to leave the weak behind. ”
I won’t let him see the wrath that kicks up in me. I won’t let him know the betrayal like poison in my veins. I will smile and nod and pretend along because I need him. I will. I can do that. I can. No, I can’t.
“I’m not going to abandon my family.” As soon as it’s out, I shut my mouth tight and try to make myself want to take it back. But like before, he doesn’t really seem to care.
“There you go, talking like Bill. Well, whatever you say. All I think is, it’s about time we get real about what we are.
I’m not the only one who thinks so.” He hesitates, like he’s considering saying something more, then changes his mind.
His fingers caress the edges of the nearest aquarium.
“It’s a good time, talking to your uncle about lab stuff.
There aren’t many people who know equipment like he does. ”
As I’m saying a silent thank-you for the change of subject, something clicks into place.
Now that I’m looking for it, the signs are everywhere: UNLV decals on a few of the tanks, long since colored over in black Sharpie, remnants of scraped-off barcode stickers and sanded-down serial numbers on some of the larger equipment.
“He got you all this stuff,” I breathe.
Brian shrugs. “Like I said, he’s a good guy. I’m helping you out because I owe him one.”
I notice the present tense. I notice, too, the debt. Maybe that’s all we are, in the end, a series of ever-deepening obligations owed to family we know we need but aren’t sure if we like. The other carnage is ancillary.
Brian hauls one of the aquariums off the shelf, onto the sterile slab of island in the center of the room. “Now, we need that cooler.”