Corrina cleaned and wrapped Jen’s eye. When she was finished, Jen still hadn’t come back to herself, not completely. She whimpered and thrashed about, so we tied her at the hands and ankles to the bed frame. I didn’t speak a word while we worked. I couldn’t.
We searched Jen over for a fresh injury, but other than what I had done to her, and scars from old V bites, there was nothing to explain it.
“It could have been worse,” Corrina said quietly.
I almost choked. “Worse? It could have been worse than this?”
We stood over Jen’s bed, in the makeshift hospital that had once been a church. It was dark, but it was not quiet. Even though the night had cooled, the air felt suffocating. There was this smell of sweat, dirt, unwashed sheets, old wood, the vinegar-like disinfectant Corrina used. Jen whimpered in her bed, lost in a terrible memory, but she wasn’t alone. This was where we cared for the Faints and any sick Feebs. Two other beds were being used by Feebs. A dozen other beds held the town’s Faints. If it wasn’t for the ropes tying the Feebs down, they would have hurt themselves or others. Just like Jen had tried to do. Just like I had done.
“It’s not your fault,” Corrina said.
The spiked coffee Betty had served me sat on my tongue like a layer of bitter paste. It was too dark to see the expression on Corrina’s face, but I knew her well enough that I could guess. She would be feeling sorry for me. She would be worried and thinking about how to make me feel better. But Jen was the one lying there, missing an eye for the rest of her life. Because of me.
I stayed beside Jen until she came back to herself. Maybe only an hour had passed, maybe it had been longer. There was no way for me to tell anymore except that it was still dark outside.
Corrina told Jen what happened. Jen cried and apologized to me. A candle lit up her bandaged eye enough to show where blood was already soaking through. Jen drifted into sleep. I threw up on the floor.
I was there on my hands and knees, smelling the mess I’d made, tasting the acid that stung my throat. I should have never left my Faints. None of this would have happened if I’d just stayed away. That’s when I noticed a person standing next to me. The outline of thick jeans, a bucket resting against the knee. I looked up. Dylan held the bucket and a few rags.
“It’s okay,” Dylan said. “We know what it’s like. Go rest. I’ll take care of it.”
His words moved me into action. I would not make him clean up after me. I held out my hands for the cleaning supplies. He handed them over, but still went down on his knees to help me mop everything up. The wood floor snagged my clothing and forced splinters into my hands. The pain only made me scrub harder.
When we finished, I followed Dylan over to Corrina. He rested a hand on Corrina’s shoulder and she leaned into him for a moment. There was a whole row of candles on the table to light up what she worked with—glass containers, rubber tubing, bottles, strips of cloth, thick textbooks open to various pages, bowls filled with dark substances. Dylan handed me a glass of water and I used it to rinse out my mouth.
Corrina worked steadily, even though there was hardly any light to see by. The moans of those in the fevers became like white noise, interrupted only by the clink of glassware as Dylan helped her. I decided to slip away before I could ruin anything else.
A board creaked under my step and Corrina glanced over. “Help me with this.”
I wanted to pretend I hadn’t heard her request.
I went to her side. A candle heated one of the beakers. Steam evaporated off the top as the liquid bubbled. She checked one of the books, her finger smudging the page. Corrina had requested we bring back any medical and plant books whenever we scavenged.
She brought a container to eye level while measuring out a portion of the dark liquid. Several bowls were filled with dried bits of different plants. She pushed one to me. “Grind this up.” She picked up the bowl and ceramic stick and showed me to use this sort of circular movement.
I took the bowl and copied her motions. The stick created this grinding sound against the bowl. It felt good to be useful.
After a few minutes of working in silence, I couldn’t hold back anymore. “What is all this?” The table looked like something out of a mad scientist experiment.
“I’m trying out different plants from the garden to see if it has any effect.” She didn’t have to say on the infection. There was nothing else it could be for, not with three Feebs suffering behind us.
“I thought we still had drugs,” I said.
Corrina transferred the heated liquid to a third container. Dylan grabbed up another bowl and began grinding.
“We won’t have them forever and they’re not working like they use to.” Her forehead was pinched and even in the low candlelight, it was easy to see how exhausted she felt. She worried about all of us like how I imagined a sister or even a mom might worry.
Dylan caught her gaze. There was something in his eyes, the way he looked at her, as if prompting her. She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. She took the bowl from him and dumped its contents into the dark liquid.
“Corrina,” Dylan said.
“I know,” Corrina said, not looking either one of us in the eye. “But what good will it do?” she whispered. “I wanted at least one of us…” The beaker was frozen in her hand in mid-air. Her other hand moved over the table full of glassware as if to brush hair off Dylan’s forehead. A beaker tipped and crashed to the floor, scattering glass shards into the darkness.
Dylan grabbed Corrina’s hand and held it away from the candle flames. He didn’t say a word. He kept his gaze on her face. His eyes shined in the candlelight until she came back. She shook off the spell like a shiver.
“You’re turning Faint.” It wasn’t a question.
“And me as well,” Dylan said.
It was like I could see the shape of this huge jigsaw puzzle, almost all the pieces had been fit into place, and someone had tipped it onto the floor. Until now, the double infection had kept Feebs from losing our minds. But everything we had learned about how to survive in this terrible world wasn’t working anymore.
“Why are Gabbi and Ano going V, but the three of us going Faint?” I said. “What makes the difference?”
Corrina knelt to pick up what glass pieces she could find.
“You’re going to cut yourself,” Dylan said.
“I can’t just leave it like this,” she said.
He came around the table and guided her back to standing. “It can wait until morning, but this,” he motioned to the table, “this can’t.”
She sighed and bit her lip. She looked so young in that moment, in the dark, in the candlelight, surrounded by beakers and bowls and books. Others like Leon were going all vigilante at the chance of a permanent cure. Gabbi was losing it. I was hiding in my room.
Corrina was making herself sick to find something to help us.
“We think it’s about exposure,” Corrina said finally.
“What?”
“We think the difference between going Faint or V is how many times a person has gotten reinfected with blood from a V. Reinfected with the Lyssa virus,” Corrina said.
I thought about all of Jen's scars.
“The more Lyssa virus in your system,” Dylan said, “The less the bacteria can do to fight it off and the more out of balance things get.” He hadn’t let go of Corrina yet. It looked like if he did she might fall to the floor.
My mind whirled with this new information. “But then we just need to do a blood transfusion, right?” Maybe it worked the other way too. Maybe someone going Faint, someone like me, needed blood from a V.
The sadness on Corrina’s face should have clued me in, but it was so simple, so obvious. My heart pumped in excitement. It could give me back my life, my control, make me no longer a burden to my friends.
“We can use Molly. She’s the strongest. Give some of her blood to Ano—”
“We tried all that,” Dylan interrupted. “It doesn’t work. It doesn’t do anything.”
I looked back and forth between them. Of course they had tried it.
Just like that my hope vanished. I should have known better. People like me didn’t deserve second chances.
Corrina seemed to collapse within herself.
“Help me get her sitting,” Dylan said.
We eased her to the ground. The glass crunched as we brushed it away with our shoes. The wood floor smelled damp and dusty at the same time.
Corrina waved us away. “Finish it for me, Dylan. You know it can’t wait.”
Dylan got up and began working at the table again. I stayed on the floor next to Corrina, using my shoulder to prop her up. She was warm and her eyes looked glassy.
“What can’t wait?” I said.
She paused, as if thinking about how to answer my question. “I’m making something I hope will reduce the effects of the memory-fevers.” She wasn’t exactly lying to me, but her cheek twitched in a certain way. She wasn’t telling me the whole truth.
Before I could press her about it, Dylan returned.
“It’s done for now.” He lifted her up, one arm under her knees and the other around her back. Her head leaned against his chest. It was as if his words had given her permission to sleep. Her eyes closed. “It needs time to cool. I’m going to get her to rest.”
When he finished positioning her on a cot, we checked on Jen and the other sick Feebs, and then on those caring for the Faints. I asked him what he thought Corrina had been planning to tell me. He shook his head. “Maybe in the morning. Only she knows what she was going to say.” And then he wouldn’t offer another word about it.
I finally let him send me away. I took a candle to help guide me back to my Faints. The streets were empty, the air was cold and damp. Leon and the others were long gone.
My breathing sounded too loud, my steps explosive. I raced up the stairs and held my breath while I knocked quietly on the door. I sent out a wish to the universe for Ricker to be asleep. There was no answer and my hopes rose for a moment. I went to turn the doorknob when it magically turned for me.
Ricker leaned against the edge of the door, my candle throwing deep bags under his eyes. He stooped over as if having just awoken, but it looked like a carefully prepared stance.
“Hi.” My voice sounded hoarse, but I hoped he wouldn’t notice. I stepped around him. Another candle was lit on the kitchen counter and was melted almost to the nub. He’d been waiting and worried.
My Faints were all tucked away in bed and their combined breathing created a soothing white noise that relaxed me. They were familiar and safe and I knew how to take care of them.
Molly’s foot dangled free from under the covers. I set my candle down next to Ricker’s and tucked her foot back in, smoothing the cool sheet for her.
Ricker still hadn’t said a word.
I gathered my courage.
He remained by the door, though he closed it behind him. He had stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared at the candle flame. Lost in—
“Ricker?” I rushed to him and shook his shoulders. He felt hot beneath his shirt, like he was running a fever. My head hurt, aching from Jen’s earlier violence. I shook him harder. “Ricker!”
He blinked, slow, long, like he was asleep on his feet. He rubbed his face.
I dropped my hands and stepped back to give us some breathing room because just for a second I had wanted to wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his chest and listen to his heartbeat and breathe him in.
“What the hell happened, Maibe? Are you okay? You were gone for hours and it’s been getting crazy out there. People sound like they’re going nuts.” He picked up my candle and waved it close to me. “You’re hurt!”
“I…” I wanted to sound strong, brave. I would just tell him what happened and then we’d figure out what to do next. Tears overwhelmed me and tracked down my cheeks and my crying hurt my throat so that I only wanted to cry some more.
“Okay, okay. Hold on.” Ricker held the candle away and pulled me into him. His strength and friendship meant so much to me. “Just tell me what happened.”
I explained about Gabbi and the meeting and how badly it went. I explained about Leon and Bernice and Nindal and the others, and then I explained about Jen.
He listened without saying a word. He had me pause for a moment so that he could drag a chair over to the sink. I sat in it and he used both candles to give him enough light to examine my neck and scalp. He squeezed cool water through my hair and into a bucket to wash away the crusty blood. Sensations that mixed pain and pleasure began to course through me. I had never been so well taken care of.
He got on his knees and examined my hands, turning them over in his own, stroking my skin, noticing the crust of juices I didn’t want to think about. He used a fresh bowl of water and a towel and gently placed my hands in the bowl to soak.
He picked up one hand and washed it like it was fragile glass. When he was finished he interlocked his fingers with mine for a flash and then let go.
I stared at his dirty blond hair, the white part his hairline made, the sweep his hair made on his forehead.
He reached for my other hand, washing it with the same care, and then picked up a clean towel to pat my skin dry. He looked up then, eyes large and meditative.
My heart pounded and my feet felt funny, like pins and needles. He stayed there on his knees, the darkness lifted only by the guttering candles that showed the messy towel, the water bowl in his lap, the way he stared at me. I cupped his cheeks and moved my fingers to tangle in his hair. He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them again, the pupils large and drowning his irises.
I leaned in and touched my lips to his and he pressed me into him and turned the kiss into something deep and endless that twisted my stomach and made my body burn and the light grew brighter and fiercer and—
The harsh afternoon light cut between us like a sword. Alden stepped back, his shoes kicking up dust. He wiped his mouth, the mouth I had almost kissed, with the back of his hand as if wiping away a disgusting bit of food. He repositioned the mask to fit snug over his uninfected face. The safety shield’s plastic glinted in the sunlight, blinding me.
I didn’t remember what I was going to say. Alden and I were on a hill overlooking Camp Pacific and we had been sitting next to each other, close to each other, almost touching. He had pushed his mask up to make it easier to talk about everything. He had looked at me long and deep and steady and I didn’t think. I had leaned in.
“I’m sorry,” Alden said, and he did look sorry, but also disgusted, like he’d eaten something sour.
“I just…” But I trailed off again because my mind was a blur of emotion. A burning embarrassment threatened to swallow me up like I wished the ground right then would do.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Alden said. “I wish…I wish I was okay with this. I wish…” He looked around in the air, desperate for an answer. He looked away. “I wish you hadn’t gotten infected.”
“If I hadn’t, I’d have gone V long before now!” I said, a prick of anger taking the edge off my embarrassment. Gabbi had warned me, she had told me Alden would be like this but I hadn’t believed her. You couldn't catch anything from a touch. If you really cared about somebody, what did it matter what they looked like?
But it mattered to him.
“I know.” Alden hung his head, and then raised it and stared at me with a fierceness that scared me. “I know.”
The afternoon sun faded. The candlelight guttered and then flamed back to life. Alden’s face vanished. The embarrassment from the memory-rush remained.
Shadows danced across Ricker’s face and on the wall behind him.
“Maibe?” Ricker ran his finger down my cheek, burning a trail through my tears.
I swallowed and gave him a small smile. “Hi.”
“Where did you go?”
I shook my head. “It’s nothing.”
His eyes narrowed and he dropped his finger from my skin. I wanted to return it to my face, but I didn’t. Part of me still wished it was Alden kneeling here in the candlelight.
Ricker pressed his lips into a grim line. “It’s Alden, isn’t it?”
I closed my eyes and turned my head. Was I really so easy to read?
His footsteps drifted away, paused, returned.
I opened my eyes.
Ricker leaned over and kissed me on top of my head. He sighed. “Goodnight, Maibe.” He walked out of the room and quietly latched the door closed behind him.
I sat in the chair for a long time and tried to think of nothing at all.
I failed miserably.