The truth is, I’m probably more scared than she is.
She takes a deep breath and nods. “Do it,” she says, resigned.
“Brenna, I’m so sorry,” I tell her as I bring the blade down.
Chapter Twenty-five
After a few hours, the Floraes stop beating on the door. I look at Brenna, lying like a rag doll where I deposited her, lifeless, on a beat-up couch. I had to do it.
I had to remove the infected area. It’s a long shot, but those “flu” injections Doc gave to everyone could actually be a vaccine. The instructions he showed me said to remove the infected area. I only cut off the fingers that had been bitten, her ring and middle finger on her left hand. It sickened me to do it, but I couldn’t let myself chicken out, not with Brenna in real danger.
After it was done, Brenna passed out, probably from the shock. I let her sleep for a few hours, making sure the bandage I made from an old shirt I found on a hook stanched the bleeding. Luckily, I found an old first aid kit with some painkillers in a desk drawer. They’re expired, but they seem to be doing the job.
“How are you feeling?” I ask when I notice her eyes are open.
Brenna sits up woozily on the shabby couch and looks at her bandaged hand, blood seeping through the dressing. “Like crap.”
“Well, hopefully this worked.”
“Yeah. I’ll be pretty pissed if you cut off my fingers and I still turn into a green flesh-eating freak.”
I move closer and sit on the arm of the couch. I explain the possibility of Doc’s vaccine. “And it was only two fingers. I thought you were tougher than that.” My joke comes out hollow, my concern clear in my voice.
Brenna laughs feebly, though. “Lucky it didn’t get my arm . . . or my face.”
I let out my own strained laugh, but we both know what will happen if Brenna turns into a Florae: I’ll have to shoot her. I’ve reloaded my gun and been watching her for signs of any change, but so far she’s been fine.
“Do you think those shots that Doc gave me really made me immune?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “But it looks good so far. And it’s been a couple of hours.” I don’t have a lot of faith in the vaccine working, but I want Brenna to believe that it will. I don’t want her last hours to be full of fear.
Brenna wobbles and lies back with a moan. “I don’t feel so good.” She’s starting to look a little green, but not Florae green, more like about-to-vomit green. I give her some water to sip, which seems to help. “Am I starting to change?”
“No. I think you’re nauseous because I cut your fingers off.”
I frown, thinking. Are you supposed to keep people who are in shock awake? Or is that just for a head wound?
“Are the Floraes still out there?”
“No, I think they’ve forgotten about us.” I glance up through the window at the darkening sky. “We’ll probably be okay if we whisper.” Not too long ago, I was afraid to speak at all, afraid to make any noises. Now I know Them better. I know what They are, how They work. “They’re more active during the day.”
Brenna’s eyes begin to flutter and I wipe the sweat off her forehead with the remains of my shredded shirt. “Brenna, stay with me.”
She opens her eyes, focusing on something over my shoulder. “It’s not easy, you know.”
“What isn’t?”
“Being a fighter . . . having to be twice as good because you’re a girl.” Her eyes settle shut again. She sounds like she’s whispering to herself as much as to me. “I can’t just be myself. I can’t just be Brenna. And now I’m dying.”
“You’re not dying,” I tell her, trying to inject my voice with confidence I don’t feel. “Soon you’ll be back in Fort Black, making out with that redhead you have a crush on.”
She laughs weakly. “How’d you know about that?”
“I saw you staring at her, after we went to get my bike that one day. I can put two and two together.”
“Well, don’t tell anyone about that. Her man would be real angry.”
“Like you care.”
Brenna’s wicked smile slowly drops and then we’re both quiet. Brenna can’t die. Not now, not here, without knowing what it’s like to be wanted.
My mind wanders to Rice, holding me in the sunshine of New Hope. And then Jacks, his body pressed against mine in a prison cell. The way he kissed me, I’d never felt anything like that before. Not even with Rice. It was as if my entire body was on fire, being consumed by my want for him. What would have happened if we hadn’t been interrupted? I let my mind go there briefly, then shake my head, blushing. I can’t think about that now. I can’t afford to.
Brenna’s shock is showing itself—she’s starting to tremble. I’ve got to keep her mind busy.
“How did you make it to Fort Black, anyway?”
“I was brought there. The caretakers at my foster care facility packed us all in a van and drove us over to Fort Black. I was only eleven. . . . I don’t remember much.”
“They brought you to a prison?”
“Yeah, I guess they thought the walls would protect us or something.”
I study her face. Her eyes are closed again, and her features are peaceful. I can see the little girl in them.
“Where are all the other kids?” I ask. “Are they still around?”
“Naw. They disappeared. I ran away from the doctors. . . .” Her brow furrows. “Wait, that can’t be right. I must be remembering it wrong. Our caretakers put us all in a room, but no one was telling us what had happened. One kid wouldn’t stop crying. I didn’t want to be with them anymore, so I ran into the exercise yard and hid. I never saw them again. I’ve been on my own ever since.”
There’s a ringing in my ears. Children gathered together, transported somewhere. Ken had said the children, children like Baby, were brought to Fort Black but got lost in the chaos. I slide my hand around the back of Brenna’s head and lift it slightly to look at the spinal column tattoo on the back of her neck.
“Brenna, why did you choose that tattoo?”
“Oh, I thought it was badass.” A tiny grin. “And I wanted to cover up an ugly old scar I had there, from foster care. I try not to think about back then, but the caretakers used to take blood, give us shots, make sure we were healthy in case someone wanted to adopt us. Even then I knew I was too old to be adopted. People just want babies, not preteens with too much attitude.”
My mind churns with the new facts. If Brenna was part of the experimentation group that Baby was, she could be immune. She might not change. Baby was bitten years ago, infected by a different strain of bacteria. Could Brenna now be fighting the new, mutated bacteria? It’s such a long shot. Ken said they’d tested that vaccine and it’s not effective. I try not to get ahead of myself, but a new spark of hope has permeated the air.
I let Brenna go back to sleep. Hours pass, and I nearly fall off the arm of the couch when I start to doze off. I move to a tattered chair across from Brenna, set my sound amplifier to maximum, and tilt my head toward her. If she moves, I’ll hear her. I try to get comfortable, but something is digging into my side. I reach into the pocket of my sweatpants and find Ken’s small notebook.
I’d completely forgotten about it. I open it and skim the pages. It’s his personal journal.
Day 46 in Fort Black: I am no closer to finding what I am after than I was in New Hope. Dr. Reynolds insists that there are answers here, but all I see are dead ends. I have even halted my main research, barring any new discoveries, and started working on a side project. This “Black Pox” that runs rampant here is easily treated. I am hesitant to share my findings, as I know I will be chastised for working on anything that is not a Florae vaccine. Even so, I’ve insisted on creating a quarantine zone, an area of my allotted space in the back wall, where those infected with the Pox can rest and die in peace. It’s a small comfort, but it’s something.