Salt (12 page)

Ch
apter 19

Eva reached for the door handle to Dr Singh’s medical room, smelling disinfectant. It reminded her of the hospital where she gave birth to Emily. She remembered the long labour. Ironic that Emily took so long to come into the world. Once she was out, she lived life as if she had it on short-term loan. Eva realised they all did, but still, for Emily it was too short.

She drew a breath as the pain from her wound flared, making her pull her arm back. Her ribs ached, and the stab wound throbbed, a pulsing reminder of her task. She had both Ade and Jean to avenge; she wasn’t going to let a flesh wound stop her. She’d use the pain as motivation.

“Here, let me.” An arm, a man’s, reached around her to take the door handle and open the door, allowing the hospital smell to waft out.

She took a step inside, turned, and realised it was Stanic. He smiled his curious shy smile. The weather-stroked skin folded at the corners of his brown eyes. Windswept hair, black with flecks of silver, was brushed back behind his ears.

“Hey,” Eva said, “thanks.”

“I heard you had a fall,” Stanic said, pointing to her ribs. “How you doing?”

“It’s okay. I can get about—to a degree. Just heading in to see the doc, get it checked out. How’s the repairs coming along?”

A shadow came over the engineer’s face. “They’re problematic. Things go missing here, things get broken. It’s like I’m working against the tide.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You usually do.”

“Hah, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Eva wanted to approach the subject of someone using the engineering department for making keys, but she couldn’t quite frame it without having him asking more questions. So far, no one had been told about Ade’s death, and Jean’s was mostly considered an accident by those outside of the circle of truth.

Stanic made to turn but must have read something in her face. “Was there something else?”

“Yeah, erm, no, just, who do you think is sabotaging the equipment. Anything strange going on in engineering lately?”

“No idea. There’s been rumours it’s one of Faust’s lot, but I don’t buy it, personally. Probably someone working with Graves, but for what end, I don’t know. Engineering is fine, the men and women there are decent people. We’re all just trying to keep things going, you know?”

“Yeah, I hear you. If you notice anything odd, you’ll come tell me, won’t you?”

“Putting your old skills to use, are you? Should I call you Detective Morgan from now on?” Stanic flashed her a quick smile.

“Ha ha, no, Eva’ll be fine, but you know, I’m just professionally curious, I suppose. Life on this old wreck will be much easier if we can keep the power and desalinators going.”

“I’ll let you know. Would be nice not to keep having to repair the repairs. I’ll see you around, Eva. Watch your step.”

“I will, Stanic, thanks.”

She watched as he walked off down the narrow corridor, then closed the door behind her and headed toward the main office of the medical facility. Facility always sounded too grand for what was really a couple of doctor’s examination rooms, repurposed storage units and a retrofitted theatre. The quarantine section was situated behind this area, in what had been, in their former life on the Alonsa, a series of function rooms.

Dr Singh, in her familiar blue medical shift, sat at her desk, filling out some paperwork. She dropped her pen when Eva hobbled toward her.

“Hey, Eva, you surprised me there.”

“Sorry, am I interrupting?” Eva leaned against the desk, her hand flat on its surface to take the pressure off her ribs.

Singh sighed and sat back in her chair, rubbing the tiredness from her eyes. “No, I should take a break. I’ve been up all night, running tests on Mike’s condition.”

“How is he?”

“Still catatonic, still uttering gibberish, although…”

Eva leaned forward, shifting her weight. “What is it?”

“It’s the damnedest thing. It’s, this is going to sound weird, but…”

“Go on,” Eva said. “I won’t judge. We’re all a little weird sometimes, right?”

“It’s like the more I listen to his utterances, the more it seems like there’s real words there. It’s probably the cadence or just me getting used to the sound and trying to imprint meaning where there is none.”

“What if he’s trying to communicate something?”

“I don’t think so,” Singh said, shaking her head. “He’s displaying almost no response to stimuli. I doubt he even knows where he is or who we are. As I say, having listened to him all night, it’s probably just my tired imagination hearing patterns and trying to find meaning.”

Singh leaned forward in her chair, took a sip of seaweed tea from her mug and yawned. “Here, have a look, see if this means anything to you.” She slid a piece of paper across the desk. “How are you, by the way? You shouldn’t be moving around.”

“I can’t just sit around,” Eva replied, taking the sheet of paper. “It’s really not that bad. You did a great job of stitching me up, and the painkillers really helped.”

“Hopefully that’ll still be the case when they wear off. Our stocks are pretty low these days. Come here, let me take a look at it, make sure it’s healing okay.”

Singh eased herself out of the chair and lifted Eva’s sweater to reveal the bandage wrap. Undoing the adhesive pad at the edge, she lifted just enough to expose the wound beneath. While Singh was checking the damage, Eva held the paper in front of her and read the words.

They were gibberish. Singh had written down what she’d heard from Mike. Eva mouthed the words as she read them. “I can see what you mean,” Eva said. “It’s nonsense, but it definitely has the cadence of speech. Could Mike have suffered damage to the part of his brain responsible for language? A stroke maybe? Perhaps he’s trying to talk, but it’s getting scrambled.”

“He has full motor control when he decides to move, which admittedly isn’t often… the wound’s looking good. Stitches are holding up, no sign of tearing or infection. Come back again tomorrow so I can keep an eye on it, but it seems to be moving in the right direction.” Singh reapplied the bandage and pulled the sweater back in place.

“Thanks, Doc.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You’re looking really tired. Why don’t you get some sleep.”

“I can’t right now. Visiting hour for the quarantined patients. When that’s over, I’ll get a few Zs. By then, my assistant should have the results of Mike’s test.”

“Can I see him?” Eva said, handing Singh her sheet of paper.

The doctor hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Sure. But I’ll warn you, it’s not a pleasant sight.”

“Don’t worry about me, Doc. I’ve seen far worse, I’m sure.”

Dr Singh helped Eva through two doors until she came to the readapted function rooms. Each door along the passage, ten either side, had clear plastic taped to its exterior. Through the round windows, Eva saw the various patients lying on their cots or standing against the door looking out.

Some mouthed what looked like hello.

Eva recognised every person. At one time they had been kind and useful members of the flotilla, but one by one they had succumbed to the infection and ended up here.

Although it didn’t seem to transfer easily from one person to the next, it was deemed too dangerous to take the chance. Most of them understood that, but there was always a few who didn’t and who wanted out. Eva waved and nodded at the ones by the doors, giving them the respect they deserved.

How cruel, she thought, to have survived everything the world had thrown at them only to be rewarded with a sickness that slowly killed them without any hope of a cure.

They reached Mike’s room at the rear of the quarantine zone. It was through a second set of doors for added protection. Dr Singh held back the plastic and allowed Eva inside.

“I’ll wait outside,” Singh said. “Are you okay?”

“Sure.”

When the doctor left her on her own, Eva shuffled to the door and looked in. Her heart seemed to skip a beat when she saw him, sitting cross-legged in the corner of his room, his arms hanging limp by his side.

He gazed off into the far distance, his lips moving in those strange patterns of his. Drool covered his chin. His eyes looked like someone had painted them on, or carved them from chalk. She had expected him to maybe notice her.

A hopeful part of her thought that her being there might have woken him from his catatonia. A friendly face, a face that he had once declared his love for, but no, he wouldn’t look her way, couldn’t see her. Just what was it that he
did
see out there?

Ten minutes went by with Eva staring in, wondering that very question.

Behind her came the noise of visitors arriving to see their sick family members. She realised she’d been crying and wiped the tears away with the sleeve of Graves’ sweater. As though thinking of him had the power to summon him, Marcus appeared behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder.

“He don’t look good, does he? Poor sod. I’m sorry, Eva. I know how much you meant to him.”

“It’s the not knowing that hurts the most,” Eva replied, turning away. “What are you doing here?”

“I said I’d keep an eye out for you. When you didn’t come out for a while, I came to make sure you were okay. So, are you?”

Eva thought about it for a while: was anyone okay, really? At what point did being okay happen when all around them there was only loss.

She didn’t answer, just made to leave the quarantine room, trying to deal with the grief of having to leave behind the one she loved for the second time. In addition, it brought back that one memory, the one that would never die, the one where Eva left Emily behind and doomed her to die alone.

Marcus helped her through the doors until she came to the main section, where the visitors, much like Eva a few minutes previously, were standing outside the various doors, looking in. The difference was, they could talk with their family members. Not that much was being said. What could be said other than “love you”, “get well soon”, “don’t give up”?

They were just reactions now. Just something you said to avoid the cold silence.

Both Eva and Marcus quietly greeted the visitors as they walked through. Everyone knew everyone on the flotilla, which made these situations worse.

For Eva, anyway. She was always accused by her police chief of having too much empathy. Of taking too much interest in people’s lives. But the way she figured it, so few people did anymore; she could at least make a difference, albeit a small and insignificant one.

Most of the cops in her district did it for the money and pension; they couldn’t understand that she did it for justice.

She did it for the victims.

Dr Singh emptied her mug of tea in a single gulp and stifled another yawn. She handed Eva the paper with the gibberish on it. “Take it. Perhaps it might make sense one day.”

“Thanks,” Eva said, taking it and folding it up into quarters. “You will let me know if Mike does say anything, won’t you? I’d like to be the first when he does.”

“That’s odd. Jim asked me the same thing last night. He was quite insistent. I’ve never seen him so… intense. What is so important about what Mike knows?”

“Jim’s under a lot of strain,” Marcus said.

“I guess we’re just curious about what happened,” Eva said as she wondered what would be so important to Jim. Sure, Mike was the first volunteer to ever return, but Jim had never really shown an interest in the volunteers beyond the day they left.

“There’s more going on than we realise,” Singh said. “I’ve known Jim a long time, and that wasn’t him last night. I fear he’s losing it. With the nonsense about your Frank going after him, Marcus, and Faust’s group being a pain in the ass, it’s too much pressure for anyone to handle.”

“Hey, I had nothing to do with Frank, and there’s a reason for that… that’s not why Jim’s freaking out. I’m sure it’ll all come out in the wash in the end.”

Eva stepped away from Marcus and headed for the exit. “I’ll come back tomorrow if Mike hasn’t changed in the meantime, Doc,” Eva said. “Thanks for letting me see him.”

“Take care, and don’t do anything stupid. That wound needs time and rest to heal.”

Eva waved to the doc without turning back and reached out for the door, but Marcus got there first, opening it and standing back for her to walk through.

She muttered her thanks.

Once outside, she turned to him. “You’ve got to go easy on Jim. He’s a good man.”

“Hey, I know, but he’s not infallible, you know.”

“You fancy taking over, do you? You see all this chaos as an opportunity.”

“Every day is an opportunity, love.”

Marcus smiled at her and walked off down the corridor. Instead of turning right to head out, he turned left toward the main staircase.

“Hey, where you going?” Eva said.

“Engineering,” he called back. “I need to have a word with Stanic about Ade. And we can see if anything crops up to help us with our little problem.”

“Let me know if you discover anything.”

He stopped then and turned back to face her. “Wait, what? You not coming after all, then?”

“No, you go. I’ve got something else I want to follow up.”

“I’ll come with you, then.”

“No,” Eva said. “I’ll go on my own. Don’t even dare to follow. I appreciate you looking out for me, but nothing’s going to happen in broad daylight with everyone out doing their business. Besides, I’ve got a manifest to get.”

“If that’s what you want, love. It’s your life. Don’t say I didn’t try.” With that, he turned on his heel and walked off, his long black coat flapping out behind him.

Eva couldn’t tell if he was an asshole naturally or whether he had to work on it. Whatever, she wanted to check on Danny, and while there, she wanted to drop in on Jim, maybe get some answers about his reaction to Mike, or at the very least the manifest.

Cha
pter 20

Jim woke and threw up on the floor as he tried to get off his bunk. His head pounded, and his guts churned. He swayed and fell back, hitting his head against a shelf, which sent him sprawling on his ass. He clenched his jaw and held his breath as pain shot up his spine.

“Motherfucker.” His skull seemed on fire inside and out, thanks to the rum, and to hitting his head on the shelf. He put his hands on his knees and leaned forward, trying to stop his vision from swirling. His throat burned, and he spat out the rum-laced saliva. Wiping his face with the blanket from his bunk, he stumbled to his feet, resting his hands against the door to regain his balance.

The cabin was lit by weak moonlight. The wind had got up, making it harder for him to remain standing. Waves smashed against the hull. They might as well have been smashing against his head.

Jim’s family picture stared back at him, reminding him of the man he had been, judging him for the man he had become. With a flash of fury, he swiped the pictures from the door and ripped them up, throwing them to the floor.

“That’s not me,” he slurred, “was never me.” He didn’t recognise his old self any more. It didn’t just seem like a lifetime ago, it seemed like someone else’s lifetime ago.

Falling back onto the bunk, he sat on the radio, realised he’d been cradling it all afternoon, hoping for a response, hoping for something to just make some fucking sense. He raised his arm, ready to throw the radio against the wall, smash it to pieces to replicate his life. But he couldn’t do it; his fate was still tethered to that little screen. All he wanted was to see his message received, to know they were still there.

He let the radio fall from his hands safely onto the bunk as he collapsed onto his side.

Jim’s breath came long and slow. His heart rate dropped, and as though connected, the waves seemed to calm. But his mind still raged. He thought about Faust.

Her sneering face mocked him. She knew, he thought. The way she kept going on about his lies, she must know. It was too late now for the truth to come out. There was nothing to say any more. Besides, he thought, if Mike ever manages to speak again, he’ll tell everyone what he saw, who he saw. They’d put it together and realise Jim had known all along.

They would revolt. Rebel. It would tear the place apart.

Did he care? Beneath it all, he still did. Even if he couldn’t go on, he wanted to give the others a chance. Faust had to be dealt with as a priority. He remembered Graves saying it would be dealt with, but she was still there, alive, a ticking time bomb.

Sitting up, Jim reached to his nightstand and picked up his regular two-way radio. Switching to Marcus’s private channel, he depressed the switch and said, “Graves, you there? It’s Jim. Come in.”

He knew he sounded drunk, didn’t care.

Again he tried, “Graves, pick up. I don’t have all day.”

The radio squelched with static. The EM field was still fucked up by the solar storms, but the two-ways should still work within the small distance of the flotilla. The bastard was ignoring him. He was about to press the button again when Graves’ voice came through the tinny speaker.

“Jim, what’s going on, what do you want?”

“It’s not done. We had an agreement.”

“We do, and it will be done, but on my schedule.”

“You bastard, don’t fuck with me. I warned you before, Graves.”

The signal was cut. This time, Jim didn’t stop himself and threw the two-way against the opposite wall of his cabin with as much force as he could muster. It shattered into pieces. Bits of plastic flew in all directions, and the circuit board broke in half. The remnants clattered to the floor. Jim stood, grabbed his knife, and left the cabin. If Graves wouldn’t uphold the deal, he’d sort it himself.

***

Faust leaned against the bars, looking bored, when Jim approached. She looked up and stretched a sneering smile across her vicious face, although her expression faltered when Jim locked eyes with her.

Perhaps it was a natural reaction to a predator, he thought. Something about his intentions translated to her and knocked her down a peg. But still, she puffed herself up, held out her chin, and started to spew a tangle of profanities.

“Had second thoughts, Captain?” she said. “Want some company, after all, huh?”

When she spat in Jim’s face, he reached out and grabbed her scrawny throat with his right hand, crushing her windpipe, watching as her face turned a dark shade of purple.

She kicked uselessly, scratched at his face, but he continued to squeeze, pulling her face into the bars. Ignoring her pathetic attacks, he leaned his face in like a lover going in for a kiss.

“You tell me now, what the hell do you think you know about me?” He could smell his own foul breath as he slurred out the words with heavy breaths. “Enough for me to end you right here?”

She choked; her eyes bulged.

He eased his grip slightly.

“I’m waiting. What do you know? You’ve got five seconds.”

“I, I…”

“Jim? What the hell?”

Jim let Faust go and staggered back, dropping his knife to the floor. “Eva? It’s not what I…”

Eva gazed at Faust, then back to Jim, her eyes wide, her mouth open, trying to form words. Jim stumbled toward her, his hands gripping her arms. He tried to talk, but the words intermingled with his sobs. Eva pushed him away but held onto his jacket to stop him from falling over. “You’re drunk,” she said. “Where’s Duncan?”

Jim just shrugged.

“Come with me. Let’s get you settled.”

As she led him out of the brig, she took a look over his shoulder and shook her head.

On the way back through the corridors and up the stairs to the cabin quarters, a number of crew members stopped and asked how Jim was. Eva had managed to avoid most questioning by saying he was ill. And he guessed he was. Not just drunk, but sick to the core.

He looked at his right hand and saw the redness of where he’d gripped Susan Faust’s neck. Was he really going to do it? Was he really going to kill someone with his bare hand? “I’ve fallen so far,” he said, dragging his feet as Eva propped him up. “I’m not a good man.”

“Are any of us good?” Eva said.

“You, you’re good. Always were. Me, I’m a liar and a coward.”

“You’re just drunk, Jim. You’ll see things definitely when you sober up.”

“I would have killed her if you didn’t come.”

“You don’t know that,” Eva said, but Jim could tell in her voice that she didn’t believe it.

It was pretty clear to anyone watching him what he would have done.

He took a breath and steadied himself as they approached his open cabin.