SAGE
The next morning, I was determined to make things different with Finn. We didn’t have time for anything else. We’d already passed day one, which meant I was running out of time.
After the walk to the west wing, I found the door to Jack’s room propped open and his bed empty. His belongings remained strewn about the room—undershirt over the desk chair, drinking water on the desk, tranquilizer gun in the corner—but no sign of Jack.
My mind went to worst case scenario—he’d gotten real bad in the night, his dad found him, and now Jack lay in one of the lab rooms getting tested. Or, worse—he’d died. No, that was impossible. Somehow, I think I would feel Jack’s presence no longer in the building—and it didn’t feel like that at all. Plus, Caesar would have found me and told me something that serious, and probably would have done the same if Jack had gone to a lab room. So where was Jack?
I scanned down the row of modwrog cells, checking all the way to the back cages.
No Jack.
I gathered the cleaning supplies. At the top of the stairs, I let the door close quietly behind me. Finn sat at the front of his cage by the bars. No growling this morning.
I leaned against the door, setting down the water hose, the bucket, the dried food. My eyes scanned the empty room. No Jack here, either. Very well then, might as well get to work.
I scrutinized Finn from across the room. “It’s a new day,” I whispered to myself, gathering the strength to approach my brother. His skin color looked much the same. He crouched, engaged in some activity which involved tapping his hands on the top of his feet.
My heart ached at the sight of it, and to cover up the pain, I began to list off square roots.
At the sound the numbers, Finn looked up and stared. My voice faded, and Finn dropped his head and started hitting his feet again. I began the equations again, and he looked up.
I stepped forward, reciting, even as the excitement bounced around inside my chest. This was the first response besides aggression that I’d had from him.
Now within two yards of his cage, still spouting off the square roots, Finn tensed but remained seated, still staring at me. I was close enough to see the rise and fall of his chest, to notice the change in his eye color—something new since yesterday—the iris now faded from its chocolate brown to a dull gray.
And then, there it was. As I said the square root of twenty-one, a glimmer of something flashed in Finn’s eyes. I could almost see him attempting to make sense of the numbers. He reached for the cage bars, his gaze intent—and as fragile as a china dish. He could be lost again at any moment.
I stopped talking and the room went completely still, both of us frozen in place, staring at each other.
“Finn,” I whispered. “It’s me.”
He tilted his head. For a moment, I thought I really saw him. The old Finn, the one who could cognitively understand me. I held my breath, the connection between us too delicate for air.
Then Finn dropped his hand from the bar and started hitting at the top of his foot again.
And just like that, I’d lost him. Air huffed out of my lungs as my shoulders sagged.
Even still, it was improvement. He didn’t jump or growl at me. If nothing else, that was a start.
And maybe it was Finn’s lack of aggression, or maybe it was the knowledge that we only had three days left, I’m not sure, but something pushed me over the edge. I was willing to risk—to test the boundaries with my brother. I was going to see what Finn would do if I turned on the water and opened his cage.
We didn’t have time not to take risks. If we were really escaping in less than three days, and Finn was really coming with us, then the time for “rational” choices had passed. If Finn wasn’t ready, we didn’t leave, and we died. Besides, I’d rather be killed by getting ripped to pieces by my own brother than by some lunatic like Dr. Adamson.
I started reciting square roots, to keep Finn or myself calm, I wasn’t sure. Maybe both.
I bent the hose so the water wouldn’t spray when I turned on the flow. Finn watched me turn on the spigot. He didn’t flinch.
Still repeating square roots, I released the kink in the hose. He stiffened at the sound of water splattering on the concrete. I raised my hand up. It’s okay.
He stared at the water a long time, and I stared at him, never stopping the numbers. Finally, with the hose in hand, I picked up my tranquilizer gun and walked over to the button on the wall.
“The square root of twenty-seven is 5.196.” I pressed the button with the end of the gun. “The square root of twenty-eight is 5.291.”
Unmoving, Finn watched from the corner while his door slid to the side. My heart beat hard in my chest.
I swallowed. “The square root of twenty-nine equals 5.385.”
He didn’t move once the cage door opened, nor for the next few minutes while I just stood there, gun up, reciting square roots, watching to see what he would do.
I made my steps slow and deliberate all the way to the open cage door. I lowered the hose so that the water poured out only inches above the concrete, making no noise at all. Then I waited, reciting. After two minutes, I ran the water across the floor of his cell. Eventually the spray got close enough that some of the water touched his swollen toes before rolling back to the center drain. He flinched, scooting further into the corner. Better than hair pulling, at least.
More numbers.
Then I lifted the hose higher. The splattering noise grew.
“The square root of fifty-five is 7.416.”
I edged the spray toward him. “Hold out your hand,” I whispered. I stretched out my left hand to show him. The water bounced off my palm, spraying sideways. Finn watched as water covered my hand, and surprisingly, he seemed to relax a little. I moved the hose toward him. He growled.
“The square root of fifty-one is 7.141. The square root of fifty-two is 7.211.”
I pulled the hose back toward me. This time, I braced myself and moved the water over my own head. I held out the gun above my head so it wouldn’t get wet, but the cold stream flowed over my hair and down my back, soaking my clothes and shoes.
“The square root of fifty-three is 7.280.” The words were garbled beneath the flow.
Finn stared. Maybe he wasn’t scared anymore. Maybe he just thought I was crazy, but the next time I turned the spray toward him, he slowly extended his hand and placed it beneath the flow. I nodded to encourage him, repeating numbers, trying to hide how my heart leaped in my chest.
Two minutes and seventeen seconds later, Finn’s whole body moved under the spray and the splattering noise disappeared as water flowed over his giant frame. He started scratching at his skin, absorbed for several minutes before finally looking at me again. And then… he smiled.
He smiled. I could almost see my brother in that moment. It might have been a mistake, a random movement of his facial muscles. But just the idea that the expression may have been intentional—it made me so happy, that I laughed.
I don’t know why I did it. Nothing was really that funny.
Regardless, when I laughed, Finn switched.
He jolted back from the stream of water, his eyes flying wide.
I rolled out of the cage in time to miss the swipe of his hand. I shot him with two darts before he was out the cage door. I didn’t look back while I sprinted across the room toward the stairwell. At the same time my hand reached the door handle, I heard Finn drop to the ground.
I didn’t even have time to process my disappointment about Finn before a voice floated toward me from the opposite corner.
“Looks like he’s not quite tame yet.”