Then they take Mom in a sudden group effort. A hand grabs Remy’s wrist and she slaps it away, runs to the table where they lay Mom, but Remy is pulled back again, this time by hands all over her body.
“Easy,” says Dad.
The doctors in green move in smaller and faster packs around the room. They not only unwrap the blanket, but also put Remy on a table, who fights them off with flailing fists and feet — the feet what they are trying to inspect.
“Hey,” says Dad. “Be careful with her. Don’t touch her if she doesn’t want you to.”
Mom on the table is all bone. Her mouth is open under the white lights, her body motionless with electrical cords being attached to her red skin. There’s so many white sheets. There’s so many gray cords and clear bags with clear liquid hanging from metal rods like the old men in the hall had.
The doctors in green speak a different language.
A red light beeps in drip-like rhythm.
A black machine hooked up to Mom warms up with glowing green numbers — 76, 55, 40, 32, 80, 100, 74, 38.
Dad asks if those are what her count will be.
The doctors in green ignore him and inspect Remy’s bloodied feet with tweezers. Again Dad speaks up, doesn’t shut down, tells them to stop hurting her. Remy attacks them. She’s so strong. Remy goes limp and slides off the table and runs to the door leaving behind bloody footprints.
“Give her one hundred,” says Dad. “Please give her one hundred.”
1
Driving in a straight line at a steady rate of speed, oblivious to his surroundings, machine maxed out and containing black crystals, Z. leaves the intersection of screaming people, burning buildings, blowing garbage, and heads to the prison. He finds the path the Brothers previously walked and the prison comes into focus through the swirling dirt in the final sky.
The guards see him coming from the prison windows. They’ve waited for this. They run down and open the gate. Little Karl drops his book.
He stops the machine and the guards circle around and begin inspecting the crystals. The only shine to Z. is a few clean teeth in his smiling head. One guard takes a razor, peels a layer of crystal off, and places it on his tongue. He smiles, says it’s the right stuff, and Z. says as long as it’s the right stuff he’ll take them home.
Jug knocks on a crystal to hear if it’s hollow, fake. He says this must be what remains and the ground trembles. He pats the largest piece and gives Z. a thumbs up.
The Brothers exit the prison shielding their eyes. Some limp and many have bruises ringing their necks. They straighten their curved backs and stand upright in the sunlight and then they do something Z. has never experienced before: applaud. The guards, his Brothers, and the village inmates walking from the prison all clap, whistle, and shout, and Z. bows and puts a hand in the air like Okay, thank you, thank you very much, you don’t have to do this you can stop now, but he’s so overwhelmed with emotion, he’s been through so much, that his eyes fill with tears as he listens to the applause. He lets it wash over him. He notices how young the guards are. There’s admiration in their eyes, and they keep shouting his name, and one guy makes an odd hooting noise while jumping and pumping a fist, and some guards slap Z.’s back and two guards, one for each leg, try to lift him up but they’re too weak. Jug says he will be remembered forever now and the applause grows louder, seems to shake the ground. Jug will get his applause later. Z. takes another bow and smiles, this time blushing, not crying, this time thinking I did it, yes. He tries to guess the ages of the youngest guards.
Tall, scrawny, blond ponytail with top shaved head, Pants McDonovan exits the prison last. He claps and squints in the sun he hasn’t felt in years. He licks his lips and tastes dirt and to him it tastes good, real. His skin looks dented. Black pools under both eyes, no sleep. When he sees a piece of black crystal he thinks about chomping down on a big edge right there but his lungs burn as they adjust to the air and he stands with both hands on his chest.
The guards carry the crystals inside. They walk hunched over in wide stances slobbering and pushing their crotches against it. There’s enough for a lifetime and it’s what they’ll do, forever. They’ll add inmates to keep the game going. Jug thinks about the party they will throw for him with no limits on coffee or donuts.
“Saw your Dad,” says Z. “I was driving so fast and there was so much dirt and I’m so tired, but I think it was him walking into the hospital. We did it.”
“How is everything not on fire,” says Pants. “Are you sure?”
“He was standing outside the hospital next to a woman in a wheelchair.”
“My head hurts.”
“We’re going to be remembered.”
“But I don’t feel alive.”
“I never thought in a million years the black crystal existed. You should feel more than alive.”
“What’s a hospital? Was he okay?”
“It’s a place people go to get injected with crystals,” interrupts Bobby T., who stands but keeps losing his balance, his legs bruised from being hacked with batons, the ground again shaking. “I read that in Death Movement. He’s in trouble.”
“Listen,” says Arnold, interrupting. “A hospital is suppose to help people. And Bobby T. is right, you should hurry.”
“Where is it?”
0
Remy kicks a doctor in the throat. She’s been kicking doctors in the throat. The doctor falls backward and slips in her blood. She spins and ducks from the grip of the others. She reaches for the door again.
Here he comes, dazed, light-headed, worried-eyebrows, never seen a place like this before, Brother.
“Who is this?” says one of the doctors. “Is he friend or family? SECURITY!”
“Adam,” says Remy.
His orange jumpsuit is covered in black holes of sweat. He walks with a limp. His hair is matted with crusted blood from landing on a concrete floor. Transparent skin. His overall look is what you’d imagine someone to look like who spent days in solitary confinement, little light. Remy wraps her arms around his thighs and they both want to believe that their counts rise. They both want to slip backward in time, and together, here holding each other in the hospital with everything around them fogging away in green dream, they feel like children again. Adam pats Remy’s head and kisses her. She imagines each pat adding one inside her. She feels so good in the swirling moment that the outside world is obliterated, it’s just them now, they are together and bright now.
Adam looks at Dad and smiles, then sees Mom on the table and realizes nothing is wrong with Dad at all, it’s Mom, that’s why they are here. It’s been Mom this entire time. He’s known this. He walks to the side of the table where she is, where a few doctors continue to work. One doctor stands against the wall. He’s on the phone with the police. Each step is floating, as if walking through connected tunnels of dream. Adam touches her face with the backside of his hand and combs her hair to the one side it wants to go. He leans over, almost falls onto the table, and the doctors give space.
He slides his arms under and around her body, the hospital sheets cool against his skin, dirt cracking off his forearms. He lifts her from the table until his body and her body touch with her head resting on his shoulder. She weighs nothing. She is nothing. Against his ear her breathing sounds like mouth-blown mud. She smells sour with something inside burning and leaving. All her life, all her numbers, have led up to this point, this hospital reckoning. She’s trying to remember all the good moments. She’s trying to make sense of it all.