Chapter 7
Time passes slowly in the dayroom, and I sit back to take it all in.
Nurse Patrick hasn’t taken his nervous eyes off Cat.
Mr. Josh still can’t stop pacing. Every few seconds he glances at the door like a caged animal.
January and Ginger are unbothered, keeping each other busy with games and crafts.
Keisha has taken on the role of caregiver, occupying Lucia’s time with hair braiding and conversation.
Keisha is obviously scared, but putting on a brave face for someone seems to help her keep it together.
I stay busy with the library books I got yesterday.
I spend an hour or two studying the book on birds of the Midwest and find myself consumed by the birds of prey.
Later, from the bottom of the pile, I pull out the US road atlas and find Peoria on the map of Illinois.
We’re barely a blip on the radar—a small dot next to small, unbolded font, surrounded by even smaller towns with smaller dots.
I start to wonder just how many people have become carriers by now and glance at the population information near the atlas’s margins.
I do the math in my head. There are hundreds of thousands of people within a hundred square miles.
If even a small percentage of them have become carriers, we have a big problem.
I trace my finger to the larger cities that frame the Midwest. Chicago, Milwaukee, St. Louis, and Indianapolis. I shiver.
There is a very real possibility we’ll eventually be surrounded by millions of carriers.
Suddenly the dayroom walls feel closer together and the room is much too small.
Now I understand why Mr. Josh is pacing.
I force myself to think about what I’ve learned in therapy.
I take several deep breaths and try to identify a problem that can be fixed now.
That problem is the future carrier in front of us.
Cat.
It’s been hours since she was bitten. The sun is getting lower, and her face is getting more ashen by the minute. Her time is running out. I weigh a few possible solutions.
“Mr. Josh, I need to go to the bathroom,” January whines, interrupting my thoughts.
He looks at the clock, then shifts his eyes to the dayroom door.
“I’ve gotta go now!” she says, her temper creeping up.
“Fine, but we all go together. Nobody leaves the group,” Mr. Josh says with a sigh.
This is perfect and almost too easy. For once, January’s whining is actually helpful.
The spark of an idea forms in my mind. At first, part of me resists, imagining the possible consequences, but those consequences only exist in the Old World.
Something in me knows that in this new world the old rules are no longer a factor, and this needs to get done. Excitement thumps in my chest.
“I’ll stay here and watch Cat,” I volunteer, making sure to keep the excitement out of my voice.
Cat’s looking groggy and keeps nodding off on the couch. Keisha gives me a warning look, which I ignore. I arrange the softest, most innocent smile on my face, but Mr. Josh still eyes me with skepticism.
“No. Nurse Patrick will stay,” he says dismissively.
Nurse Patrick looks at me. Looks at Cat. Then back at Mr. Josh.
“There should be two of us out there in the hall, Josh. Anybody with a security code could come up the elevator or through the hall doors. We can’t trust anybody right now. We should be together. Quinn can handle watching Cat,” Nurse Patrick says confidently.
Mr. Josh looks conflicted, but his claustrophobia is winning out. He wants out of this room as badly as January does.
“If anything happens—anything—you come get me first. Have I been clear, Quinn?” Mr. Josh asks.
I nod innocently as Mr. Josh snatches the bedpost from my hand. Nurse Patrick looks at me with what I can only describe as profound sadness. He knows what needs to be done just as well as I do, and he knows me well enough to know what’s about to happen. He gives me a nod that I take as permission.
The group leaves the dayroom single-file. Old habits die hard. The girls form a line outside of the staff bathroom down the north hall past the elevator and begin taking turns. I should have about twenty minutes.
Alone with Cat in the dayroom, I move toward the chair where Lucia was sitting just moments ago and pull her screwdriver out of the cushions, right where I saw her tuck it away. This is just carelessness. We’ll have to have a talk about her carrying it everywhere she goes.
I shove the screwdriver into the deepest pocket in my cargo pants and get to work.
I nudge Cat on the shoulder of her good arm. “Come on, Cat. We’re going to the bathroom too,” I chirp, channeling Ms. Michelle.
She groans. “I can’t. I’m too tired; I just want to sleep.” Her head lolls to the side. She’s barely conscious. This might be tougher than I thought.
Ignoring her protests, I put my arm around her waist and pull her to her feet. “Up we go,” I groan as we stand.
I half-drag her down the south hall, and she struggles to stay upright.
As I pick up the pace, her shoes make a squeaking noise on the linoleum as they drag, and I pause, wincing, waiting to hear Mr. Josh shout from around the corner down the hall.
I glance behind me. Somehow, I’m still in the clear.
When we finally get to the stairwell, my legs are burning and I’m barely able to catch my breath.
Shakily, I punch in Mr. Josh’s code and swing open the door, nearly losing my balance under Cat’s dead weight.
I know she’ll never make it up the stairs, and I’m not strong enough to carry her. This has to be the end of the line.
“Okay, Cat. We made it. Sit down now,” I say gently, propping her up next to the stairs.
I look at her slack, hollow face. She’s gone downhill so fast. It’s hard to believe this is the same girl I’ve lived with for the last six months.
I didn’t really bother talking to her much.
Her chart wasn’t that interesting, so why bother?
Like most of us, she was in foster home after foster home before ending up here, but the Pegasus Center seemed to be really good for her.
Her new meds evened her out, and she only attempted suicide her first night.
Someone forgot to take her shoelaces. Rookie mistake.
But Cat settled in and made friends fast. In just six months she was already on her way to graduating into independent housing.
But that was before she was bitten. I look at Cat’s tired face.
Her eyes open, blinking slowly. She looks down at her bitten arm and sighs, defeated.
“I’m just going to rest here, okay?” she whispers.
“Okay,” I reply.
Her eyes close again, and she exhales.
My heart beats heavily in my chest, and I can feel the thrill all the way down to my fingertips. I grip Lucia’s screwdriver in my hand and trace the contour of Cat’s face, carefully choosing a target, taking the potential for mess and efficiency into consideration.
Slowly, I push the tip of the screwdriver into her right eye, through the thin bone of her socket and into her brain.
I’m relieved when she doesn’t struggle at all.
A tiny wince, a sharp inhale, and just a quick flash of fear are all the reactions I see.
I push until my fist is flush with her eye, and she goes still.
Just to be certain, I move the screwdriver back and forth to destroy as much brain matter as possible.
Warm blood drips down my fist. When I’m certain she’s gone for good, I stand up, wipe my hand on her jeans, and allow myself to smile.
Cat is gone. She’s no longer a threat.
I feel the warmth of excitement. It’s a strange feeling, and I try to shake it off, but it itches the back of my brain. Once again, I think back to what I learned in therapy and decide to try to understand where that feeling is coming from.
Do I feel this way because I wanted Cat dead? No. Cat wasn’t a bad person. Sure, she was annoying occasionally like everyone else in this place, but killing her wasn’t about justice or pleasure; it was just what needed to be done. It wasn’t personal, but it did feel good.
Before today I’d never killed anyone. I’ve always wondered what it would feel like, but I also knew something like that would have consequences.
Today, those consequences disappeared. For a moment, I let myself think about all the people who deserve death, and I’m flooded with that warm feeling again, but I need to keep myself under control.
I decide to stop thinking about it. I need to get back to the dayroom, anyway. I leave Cat where she is on the sixth-floor platform. I had hoped to get her all the way up to the roof, but a long day of physical labor has left me exhausted and aching.
I punch in Mr. Josh’s code again and quietly push the door open. The hallway is quiet. Before going back to the dayroom, I stop at my bedroom to wash my hands and clean Lucia’s screwdriver.
When I’m done, I tuck Lucia’s screwdriver into my pocket and carefully arrange the expression on my face, making my eyes as sad as possible. I take a deep breath and walk back.
The others are arriving in the dayroom just as I’m approaching the door. Mr. Josh sees me and grabs me by the arm, pulling me back into the hallway outside of the dayroom.
“Ow! What the hell? Let go of me!” I say, trying to shake off his grip.
“Where the hell have you been? Where is Cat?” Mr. Josh spits, giving my arm a hard shake.
“I took care of it,” I answer. “She won’t come back. We’re safe.” I pull my arm out of his grip, and my eyes flash with fury. Mr. Josh’s eyes go wide, and he takes a step back.
“You…you killed her!” he stammers accusingly. “We don’t know if she would have died from that bite! She could have recovered! You don’t know—”
“We both know,” I say, cutting him off. “Cat was putting us all at risk. Problem solved,” I say firmly, never taking my eyes off his.
“You’re out of control! I think you should spend the night in the isolation room and cool off,” he suggests frantically.
“Like hell,” I say coldly. “This conversation is over.” I turn away from Mr. Josh and walk back into the dayroom. In silence, I go to the couch and discreetly tuck Lucia’s screwdriver back in its hiding spot. Six sets of wide eyes settle on me.
“Listen up,” I say, addressing the room. “While you were gone, Cat died. Just like Ms. Michelle.”
I scan the room to see who is buying it. Nurse Patrick looks down at his hands, fidgeting awkwardly. He knew what had to be done. So did Keisha and Lucia. Ginger and January seem to have no suspicion whatsoever. Mr. Josh, of course, fumes behind me.
“You don’t have to worry. She won’t come back like the others. I took care of it. We’re all safe now,” I finish.
Silence hangs awkwardly in the room. I wait, looking at each one of them to see if anyone will challenge me, but no one even bothers to meet my eyes. A soft beeping noise breaks the spell.
Nurse Patrick looks down at his watch, then pulls our meds out of the pocket of his scrubs. The bottles rattle in his hands, bringing all of us to attention.
“It’s time for meds,” he says carefully, still avoiding my stare.
“Everybody get a cup of water and line up, please.” We all go through the motions.
The routine settles the tension that hangs heavy in the room.
It occurs to me then that there is a finite supply of meds, but I file it away in the back of my mind. That’s a problem for another day.
With evening meds distributed, I can feel the energy of the dayroom begin to slow. The end of the longest day of our lives is coming to a close. My sore muscles complain, and my eyes feel heavy. With Cat gone, I can finally relax.
I find a spot on the floor, curl into my blankets, and stare up at the ceiling.
I notice Keisha has made her bed close to mine, and I can’t help but feel rewarded.
I’ve spent this last year learning from her, but today, she depended on me.
I protected her, and she knows it. Her closeness now is proof.
The realization that I could be the one to keep her safe is like a drug, and I want more of it.