Forever Between (Between Life and Death Book 2) (13 page)

When he takes us to the labs, Charlie gets tense again, his trust-meter starting to peg the bottom. We’ve not seen that many people on our tour. Doctor Reed claims that some are on watch, others working in the roof gardens, and yet others doing maintenance, but if there were new people claiming to have a cure at our place, we’d all want to take a peek at least. It unnerves me, but it’s really doing a number on Charlie’s nerves. He’s definitely feeling suspicious. I can tell.

Despite Charlie’s suspicions, the place we go next is just a lab. Without power or windows, it’s a dim place, but Chester—even thinking that name seems preposterous—lights up his little LED lantern and Charlie and I set our flashlights down on lab benches to spread the light around.

“Have a seat,” Chester offers, taking a stool next to a counter.

We do, but Charlie makes sure that both of our seats have their backs to a wall, and he angles himself so that he can see anything coming from out of the darkened interior further back. If Chester notices, he doesn’t say anything.

I jump a little when the doctor slaps his hands on his knees, but we all ignore my little faux pas. He pulls the hard drive out of his pocket and puts it on the lab bench between us.

“You say this has a cure on it.”

I make to clarify that statement but he holds up a hand to stop me.

“I know. Maybe a cure. Whichever it is, you should probably understand some things right off the bat. No one here knows how to make medicine from scratch aside from a few basic things. For most of the meds I do know how to make, I don’t have the ingredients or chemicals I would need to make them. So whatever is on here, it’s probably wasted on us.”

I shake my head with greater insistence until he stops talking. “It’s not for medicine. It’s for nanites. At least I think so.”

“This cure is a nanite design?” he asks, now resting a hand on the hard drive with interest instead of dismissing it.

“Not sure about that. Emily thought it was a program rather than a design, but she didn’t know for sure. Someone who understands nanites is going to have to see it to figure that out.”

Chester twirls a finger over the logo imprinted into the drive, his expression unreadable. “So you need a tech to look at this.”

“You can’t do it?” I ask. The idea that we’d had this much good fortune only to find we’re missing the key piece after all makes my stomach churn.

“I’m a doctor, but the medical kind. Neurology, really. I got drafted into this gig because I originally went to college for computer programming, but then switched to medicine. The future—or rather, the future as I saw it then—was in computer enhanced medicine. The military has always been interested in that. Anything that can help soldiers survive the battlefield is of interest to them. So, nanites. That’s how I met Emily. The markers for her type of cancer were unique enough that it was an excellent place to start for nanite based cancer treatments.”

I think about that series of events for a moment, the sheer luck of it. Well, it would be lucky except for what happened later. Emily would have died long ago and never experienced any of this. And by extension, I would have died as well. It’s odd.

Finally, I shake my head to push back my wandering thoughts. “You have power for computers?” I ask, waving at the darkened room around me.

“We’ve cobbled together a bit of solar power. It’s not enough for lighting the way it’s done in this building, but we probably wouldn’t do that anyway. It’s enough for everyone to take a turn charging their music players or tablets for whatever movies they’ve got on them. We share the power to keep up morale, but this would take precedence.”

“And you have a tech?” Charlie asks.

Chester nods. “We do. One. But not a top tier guy. More of an intern for specific types of programs. He tried to work on the broadcast, but without decent broadcast ability, it was of limited use.”

Charlie squirms on his seat a little. I can tell he’s got questions and apparently, the doctor can see it as well. “Go on. Ask whatever you like. You won’t hurt my feelings.”

“Why didn’t you people just reverse the broadcast when this happened? Or transmit a kill program or something?”

Ah, the endless topic of all humans in this world. Well, at least any human that knows our end was brought about because of nanites. If this question hasn’t been asked by every single person left on this planet at least a hundred times, then it’s because they’re too young to talk. Emily had more information than anyone else I’ve ever met and she didn’t know those answers. I look at the doctor for an answer, too.

“We did.”

“But…well, how is it still like it is outside?” Charlie asks, his voice rising a little. His jaw clenches when he shuts his mouth again, the muscles fluttering in his cheeks.

“I don’t know,” Chester answers, his voice resigned. “On the base, before they were lost, there was a lot of talk about someone doing it on purpose. Breaking down the broadcast after the first one was sent. There’s no other explanation that fits.”

“Then just broadcast it again!” Charlie’s almost yelling his voice is rising so much. I put a hand on his forearm, urging him with the pressure to keep his seat and his calm. “Sorry,” he says.

“Everyone tried before communications ceased. There were even mobile units out sending a signal on the ground. Nothing worked. Nanites are too small for electro-magnetic pulse to be effective, too small for even direct voltage, too embedded into the body’s individual systems for a taser to do much unless it kills the host. Still, I know they tried all of those things on the base as well. They even tried cleaning the blood of infected patients, sort of like dialysis, but that didn’t work because nothing could get to the nanites inside tissues. Everyone tried everything. You don’t get it. Whatever made this happen locked us out. And too many people had too many different kinds of nanites in them to stop it once it started.”

He pauses, swallows hard, and taps the drive with a finger. “So you can understand why I’m not jumping up and down thinking there’s a cure inside this brick.”

I watch his hand on the drive, dismissive yet possessive, and I understand something in that conflicted gesture. Despite his less than hopeful words, he does have hope. He’s just afraid to let it in or show it. He’s had his hopes trampled underfoot too often. How frustrating and heartbreaking it must be to watch all that death outside and know how much of that was caused, at least in part, by the work he did. How much worse that must be when he has no way to fix it.

“Just look,” I say. “Really look at what’s on the drive.”

He nods, but not with any excitement. “We will. Of course.”

We fall silent then, but it’s not awkward at all. It’s more like a thoughtful silence. Then Chester asks, “What happened to Emily?”

This is a question I’m not really prepared to answer. I never once considered that eighty miles from where we’ve been hiding like mice in a cupboard, I’d find a hospital that somehow, miraculously, had someone inside that knew Emily. I mean, what are the odds? Then again, considering how much time she spent here, maybe it’s not so miraculous. But, how do I answer that question?

“That’s the other reason I’m here,” I begin and clear my throat. I sound nervous even to myself. “Her cancer came back. I’m here to see if there are any of her nanites left. We didn’t think anyone would be here to be honest, so we were going to look through storage.”

I stop there and pull out the small sheaf of papers that detail everything Emily could remember about the nanites, where they were, how they were energized, and everything else. Along with that is a list of all the things I’ll need. Suspension fluid, needles for spinal insertion, any books or diagrams I can find on how the spine is put together. The list is long.

Chester reaches out a hand for the list, but he’s staring at me in shock and not really paying attention. He takes it. Seeing the words on the papers seems to wake him back up. “I thought Emily was dead. She’s not? She’s okay? I mean, except for the cancer.”

Charlie shoots me a warning glance. Our group has discussed this and it’s been our agreed upon policy that should we meet any people—or if people should happen upon us at the warehouse—that we would not discuss the cages or the in-betweeners. Charlie and I also agreed that if we actually found the hospital manned, we wouldn’t let on about Emily’s true condition. We’d leave it at medulloblastoma and say nothing more. We’re keeping her as a caged in-betweener, hoping to cure the illness that killed her and see what might be left of her inside. We’re hoping for something more than we’re likely to get.

All that resolve is falling away. This was her doctor. He walked her through two bouts of this disease. While I might be able to simply relay her condition of a few months ago as if that were her condition today, I know I’m equally likely to screw up and say something that would give away what we’ve gone through in the last month. Those two weeks of her breaths hitching and her heart losing rhythm, and then the days in the cage while she lay almost insensate, hardly speaking or even seeming to understand that others were nearby. Then the day when Charlie and I went in and chained her. That final day when her heart stuttered to a stop for a full thirty-three seconds.

And then after. All that has come after.

Charlie reads my thoughts on my face, as if I had spoken aloud. He purses his lips but gives me a tiny nod, too. Chester sees it as well.

“Just tell me,” he says quietly.

“She died two weeks ago,” I say, before I can lose my nerve.

Chester clearly understands there’s more to that and the look on his face is one part horror and one part compassion. “But she’s alive again.” It’s not a question.

I nod, but I also feel the need to justify what I’ve done considering the way he’s looking at me. “She asked for it. I mean, as in specifically asked to be kept. She—we—have been testing in-betweeners for a while. She’s getting lots of food, mostly birds, and is being cared for.”

“In-betweeners? Is that what you call First Stage Revived? You keep them somehow?” he breaks in.

“Yes, but you don’t understand. The man who took care of me—and four other kids—for the first two years of this mess died, but when he came back, he had control over himself to some extent. He could talk. It wasn’t perfect, but it was there. He was inside there. Emily thought that if the time without oxygen was short enough and the thing that killed a person cured, that they might be able to come back. We’ve been trying, but so far, every in-betweener we find has either been that way for a while or is in bad shape. Until recently, that is. Plus Emily.” I stop talking then as Chester’s expression changes from disbelief to interest and then back to disgusted again.

“You’re keeping test subjects?” he half-whispers.

“We need enough of the nanites that cured Emily before to cure her again,” Charlie says, perhaps sensing that our conversation is taking a bad turn.

Chester swings his stool around so that he’s facing the work-bench and puts his head in his hands, elbows braced on the surface as if he might sink into the ground without the support it provides.

“Just stop,” he says, his voice a little muffled by his hands. “Let me take this in.”

Charlie and I share a look. For some reason, I’m feeling stronger, more resolute now that it’s out in the open. I do understand this is a lot to take in, but I’ve got a goal and a time limit for completing it.

“Do you have more of those nanites?” I ask.

Chester lifts his head and looks at me with his disbelieving eyes, like I’m some sort of new species he’s found. One that’s interesting to look at, but slightly repugnant at the same time.

He takes a deep breath and says, “I do.”

Two Months Ago - Gloria Days

I’ve stayed behind to tend to Emily and take care of the kids while the others go out on a run. There’s so little to find now, but we still have to look. It’s strange how empty it feels here in our home warehouse without them. With two kids, Emily and me, there’s still one more person here than we had for a long time, and it never felt empty then. It’s sort of amazing how quickly a person can get used to more bodies taking up space.

Emily groans in her sleep, her hand reaching up to press the side of her head even while she’s unconscious. She’s getting worse and fast. It’s hard to believe how quickly it’s happening. As I’ve been tending her these last few weeks with more care, I found out that she thought her cancer had returned all the way back when she first found Jon and I. She says that it moves slowly and she’s grateful for all the time she’s had. She thought that the nanites she was infected with might fight her tumor, or at least the symptoms and problems that go along with it, and give her more time. Perhaps the nanites would keep it small so that it would never grow and kill her. I think she was in denial.

As for me, I just feel angry. We could have gone to that hospital somehow long before it came to this if she would have only shared the information.

Now, I’m wondering if it’s too late. Everyone knows what’s happening to her now and, while no one except Charlie agrees that going to the hospital might be worth the risk, they are doing their part to prepare for me to go. Hence, this extra run today. They’ve been going out more often, trying to build up a stash of things in preparation for a time when a few of us might leave for the hospital. With fewer people, going on scavenging runs would be impossible.

Jon and Maribelle are in the next office so that their play doesn’t disturb Emily. She’s able to fall asleep so rarely that even the kids understand they need to be quiet when it happens. Her hand drifts back down to her side and her breathing evens out again into the rhythms of sleep. I check to be sure, then tiptoe out of the office, pulling the door closed behind me as silently as I can.

I check the time and sigh. They’re late returning. They left yesterday morning and are supposed to be back by dusk tonight. I can’t panic yet, shouldn’t panic yet. Winter is finally shifting into spring—though reluctantly and only in fits and starts—and while the days are finally growing a little longer, dark still comes early. If they find something good or get delayed, they’ll just hunker down for another night rather than risk coming home while it’s dark. They won’t be able to see what might be coming at them at night, so they’ll stay put. That’s our rule. Still, there’s no quieting the flutters in my stomach.