The hospital has never been this full.
Most of the white coffins are closed, wounded circles, circle-stars and Springers inside. I still don’t have casualty numbers, but the battle cost us dearly.
Smith, Yilmaz and Pokano try to be everywhere at once, constantly checking dozens of wounded. The three of them must be exhausted, but they fight on, show no signs of slowing.
I sit in a chair next to an open coffin at the room’s far end, away from the bustle. Inside the coffin: Brewer. The pedestal display beeps in time with the slow beat of his heart.
The time for questions has passed. This is about him now.
“Of all the people I’d want by my side when I die,” he says, “you’re last on the list.”
Kenzie told me there’s nothing left that can be done.
B. Brewer is in his last moments. Yilmaz gave him drugs to take away most of his pain. Considering he’s spent an eternity in agony, that’s a blessing.
His mask is gone. A thin, clear tube runs into the fleshy folds where his mouth should be.
“If you’d like someone else, I’ll get them for you,” I say. “Suit yourself.”
His wrinkled body jiggles with laughter, the bone-scraping-bone sound I remember all too well, but there is something new in it. This is real laughter, the kind made from joy—not from sarcasm.
“Oh, my-my-my,” he says. “Did you hear that, Mattie? An actual laugh. And it didn’t even hurt.”
His voice is soft, weak. He knows he is dying, yet he seems to enjoy these final moments. To suffer for so long, then to be free of pain…that must be like heaven itself.
He called me Mattie. A small part of me remembers that name—that’s what he called Matilda when they were little. When they were childhood friends.
He again thinks I’m her. If that’s who he wants at his side, I’ll play along as best I can.
“I’m sorry for everything,” I say. “I know that doesn’t help, but I am.”
He stares at me for a moment. His big red eyes are fading to pink.
“Do you know why you’re the last person on that list, Mattie? Because everyone else on that list has been dead for a long, long time.”
He raises one thin, gnarled hand toward me. I take it, hold it gently, afraid I might break him. His skin feels paper-thin. Only a trace of warmth remains.
“Where did we go wrong?” he asks. “We did what we were told. We obeyed. We served. Why didn’t we get the reward that was promised to us?”
His words dig at my soul. He never had a choice. And because he stood up to Matilda—for reasons I still don’t understand—he lost his chance to be reborn.
“Because people lie,” I say. “They tell us what we’d like to hear so they can get what they want.”
His other hand rises up, pats my knuckles.
“At least I got to see Omeyocan,” he says. “So many did not.”
I hear his heartbeat slowing.
“I wish there was something I could do,” I say.
He gently pulls his hand away.
“There is…one thing,” he says. His voice is so soft now I have to lean close to hear him.
“Anything, Brewer. Anything at all.”
Color briefly flares back into his eyes. “Tell me it was worth it. Tell me all the pain, the sacrifice…the loneliness…tell me it was worth it. Tell me my life mattered.”
People lie, yes, but this time, at least, I can tell the honest truth.
“You saved us,” I say. “Yes, your life matters, because you used it to give life to others. The Birthday Children will never forget what you’ve done. They will never forget you.”
For an instant, the red eyes sharpen. They see me, recognize me.
He doesn’t have a mouth, but I think he’s smiling.
The eyes fade from red to pink.
The heartbeat changes from a slow beep to a flat, unwavering tone.
Brewer’s eyes turn white.
He is gone.