Monument 14: Savage Drift (Monument 14 Series) (6 page)

He doesn’t know I’m fine

Just as long as he is near.

Let there be a dream come true.

A broke-down farmhouse on a shaded lane.

Take us far out of harm’s way

And find us shelter so that we all may

Stay together.

Together.

Together.

A stillness fell in our corner of the tent. All the kids around us had stopped to listen to Sahalia’s raw, raspy, beautiful voice.

When she finished, everyone burst into applause.

“That’s a really good song! You wrote it?” I asked.

She nodded, blushing. Alex was all red in the face, too. Man, they had it bad.

“Sahalia, that song could go on the radio in a heartbeat,” Astrid gushed. “You guys should make a video for it someday.”

It was nice to see Astrid so excited.

“Niko, did you hear how it’s about your uncle’s farm?” Alex asked.

Niko nodded.

He was looking up at the roof of the tent.

“Didn’t you like that part so much?” Alex wanted Niko to join in.

“I liked the part where it says we’re supposed to stay together,” Niko said.

Then he turned his back on us.

CHAPTER SIX

JOSIE

DAY 31

“Daddy! Daddy! Daaaaaaaddy!” Lori screams.

“Shut up.” I elbow her in the ribs.

She sits up, taking the whole blanket with her. Her breathing is jagged and full of sobbing to come, like a ripe thundercloud waiting to spill.

I slide off the bed and stalk into the bathroom.

Our two towels are dirty but I’d rather sleep on the floor with them than with broken-up Lori.

Under the bluish LED lighting, my skin is the color of gunmetal.

Back a million years ago, I used to be proud of the color of my skin. The glow, the depth and light in it. And smooth—never a blemish, never a scar.

Who is that girl in the mirror now?

Sunken cheeks, dark blackish circles under my eyes, and creases on either side of my mouth. Scar on my forehead from the ancient bus crash.

My hair is tied up in my knots, but it’s dirty, dirty, and if I don’t get a hold of some shampoo soon and a comb, it’ll just dread into two clumps.

I look like a zombie avatar of myself.

I think of Brayden, so handsome. That jaw of his and how I liked to push my face into his neck, and feel his stubble. It was a fling, and I know we were only together because we were trapped in a store, but still, it was thrilling to be with someone so ruggedly gorgeous.

I think about Niko, with his utter seriousness. Almost unable to be lighthearted, even for a moment. And who so believed he loved me.

I loved him, too. Maybe at times I felt smothered by his adoration. But I did love him, too, I did.

Maybe the only kind of love that can thrive now is a desperate, crushing love.

Anyway, it’s lost now.

Did he make it? Did the kids make it?

I do not allow myself to think about them.

I might as well throw myself off a cliff.

I open the medicine cabinet. There are two old Q-tips, stuck to the metal with yellow residue. A safety pin lying askew to its rusted shadow.

What was I hoping for? Nobody snuck in and put a pair of scissors there.

But if they had I would take off my knots.

Maybe I’d take off my face.

(See, O, O, O is rising and begging for release.)

Sometimes I ask God if I should kill myself.

I ask Him to send me a sign.

Am I asking Him to send me a sign as I stand there, staring into the empty glass?

I don’t remember, but Lori appears in the mirror. The ghost of Lori. Standing behind me and shivering, miserable in her stupid thin thermal.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “Please come back.”

“Can’t sleep without me?” I ask, as mean as I feel.

She shrugs. She runs her hands over her goose-bump arms.

“Do what you want. I’m just trying to be nice,” she says.

I know I’m hurting her with my callousness and indifference. Sometimes it feels good to hurt someone.

She shuffles back to our mattress and naked pillow and our charity blanket and grubby, coarse bottom sheet.

Rising in my throat is an apology and the tears to wash it out of me.

I’m sorry, Lori, that you have nightmares.

I’m sorry your daddy died getting you on that plane.

I’m sorry they locked up all the Os together—you don’t deserve to be here.

I’m sorry that I have nothing for you or the others.

I am sorry about the dead.

I am sorry I am the dead.

*   *   *

I swallow my apology and go back to bed.

My feet are like ice.

I don’t let them touch her.

CHAPTER SEVEN

DEAN

DAY 32

At daybreak a sound woke me up. It was not the kind of sound you want to wake up to: the sound of your girlfriend stifling a moan into her pillow.

I slid out of bed. My feet made the platform floor squeak.

“Cramps?” I asked her.

“Yeah,” Astrid said. “Not as bad as yesterday, though.”

The paleness of her face made me pretty sure she was lying.

“I know you don’t want to go, but I really think we should go to the clinic.”

“I know,” she said.

I leaned in and kissed her. Little tears were pooling at the corners of her eyes.

“Do you really think it’s safe to go?” she asked me. She sat up. Her hair was poking all over with its wayward curls.

“I was thinking, what if we just give them a fake name? We could say you’ve just arrived. You’re not in the system…”

“Yeah,” she said. “Maybe. But what if they recognize me from before. What if it’s the same guy?”

“You could say you prefer a woman? You’re shy?”

“That’s a good idea. Yeah.” She smiled, then grimaced. “It hurts.”

“Let’s go.”

“Dean,” she said. “Thank you. I know I’m not always as, like, girly or gushy or girlfriendy as somebody might want. But the way you take care of me, it means a lot to me. I just wanted to say that.”

That made me feel great. It wasn’t quite “I love you forever,” but I guess that was her point. She wasn’t that kind of girl.

*   *   *

I put my hand on Niko’s arm.

He was instantly wide-awake.

“Hey, I just wanted to tell you—Astrid’s not feeling well so we’re going over to the clinic.”

“Okay.”

“When we get back, I’m going to help you figure out about Josie.”

“Okay.”

“I didn’t want you to think I forgot.”

He nodded.

*   *   *

The early-early birds were up and headed to the Clubhouse for breakfast. We saw them crossing the greens, alone and in small groups. Rising early was a good way to beat the lines.

The field hospital was housed in a series of tents behind the Clubhouse.

Alex had found out these tents were made by a Canadian company called Weatherhaven that had a manufacturing plant right here in Vancouver. It explained why the tents were so new and nice.

In the first tent, we had to register to get an appointment. A pleasant-faced woman sat behind a desk. An old-fashioned desktop computer took up a good portion of the space. Wires ran out of the back and down onto the floor, where they snaked back across the floor, collecting into a rubber tube. Hard-wired into the system. Very quaint.

She handed us a clipboard with several sheets of paper. A ballpoint pen swung off a string.

For whatever reason, Network coverage up here in Vancouver was nonexistent. We’d been told about some new WiFi systems being rigged up in other places, but here at Quilchena, it was a computer with a hard line or it was good old pen and ink.

We sat down with a couple other early stragglers. One woman was clutching her jaw and groaning. An older man had his arm in a cast and watched us with suspicion.

Maybe it was because Astrid’s hand was shaking as she filled in all the blanks on the form. She filled them with lies. Mostly lies.

Name: Carrie Blackthorn (Carrie was the name of her first pet—a bunny. And Blackthorn was her mother’s maiden name.)

Social Security or Taxpayer ID number: 970-89-4541 (The first nine numbers of her home phone number.)

DOB: 07-04-2007 (The Fourth of July of the real year she was born.)

For Previous Address, she put her best friend’s house.

For Intake (this meant the day we were entered into the system at Quilchena), she put the day before.

Then she got into the medical data—previous surgeries, immunizations, etc., etc., and for all that stuff she told the truth.

Chief complaint (that was the reason we were there): cramping. Approx 28 weeks pregnant.

“If they ask, I’m your fiancé,” I said as she finished the forms.

“What?”
she asked, with her eyebrow cocked to the heavens.

“In case they won’t let me in with you. Because I’m just a boyfriend.”

“Okay,” she said, in a slightly “whatever” tone of voice.

“Never mind,” I said.

Why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut? Why couldn’t I ever be cool?

The woman took Astrid’s forms and typed them into her computer.

“Oh dear,” she said. “I don’t have your number in the system.”

“Ugh. They had the same problem yesterday,” I told her. “When we got in, at the registration. The lady said she’d try to sort it out and we should come back today to see.”

“Can we see someone anyway?” Astrid said. “I’m scared for the baby.”

The woman studied Astrid with a kind look on her face.

“Here’s what we’ll do. I’m going to have one of the nurses take a look at you. Tomorrow, or later today, once the paperwork is all settled, I want you to come back and book a proper appointment. They’ll do a physical, blood work, the whole thing.”

She picked up a telephone.

“Sylvia, I’m sending a young couple to you. Could you ask Kiyoko to take a quick look?”

After she hung up she turned back to us.

“Kiyoko’s one of my favorites. She used to be a labor and delivery nurse. She’s your gal.”

*   *   *

We went back outside with directions to Tent 18. The tents were laid out in a grid, very orderly. Tent 18 had rows of examining tables standing against the walls. Cabinets with medical supplies and equipment stood between the tables, separating them into little examination cubicles. Each cubicle had a white curtain that could be drawn for privacy.

A woman in fatigues saw us.

“You here to see Kiyoko?” she asked us.

We nodded.

“Come this way. I’m going to put you in a cube with an ultrasound machine.”

In the exam cubicle Astrid and I stood there uneasily. I could see why the idea of coming here had made her uneasy. It was all very organized and efficient—but it was also very military. I felt strange, standing there in my dirty sweatshirt and jeans. Like I was messing the place up.

The curtain whisked open and we both jumped.

“Hello, Carrie?” a Japanese woman in scrubs asked Astrid in a thick accent. She was tall, with wire-rimmed glasses and a ponytail.

“What seems to be the problem?”

Astrid explained about the cramps.

Kiyoko read her intake form.

“Only twenty-eight weeks?” she asked.

“I think so,” Astrid said.

“Let’s have a look.” She helped Astrid lie back onto the examining table. Astrid lifted up her shirt.

Her belly was taut and improbably round, like a dwarf watermelon. Pink stretch marks lined the area under the belly near her hips. I hadn’t noticed them before. They ran in messy parallel lines, like indistinct claw marks.

“Mmph, baby’s growing fast,” the nurse noted, pointing to the stretch marks. “Skin can’t stretch fast enough.”

She took out a tube and squeezed a clear gel onto Astrid’s belly.

“Are you the daddy?” she asked me.

I didn’t know what to say.

I decided on yes.

Astrid reached out her hand to me. That was nice.

The nurse put a handheld wand on Astrid’s skin and the screen of the ultrasound machine came to life.

In shades of green, shapes moved around the screen and I had no idea what we were seeing. Blobs moving and then Kiyoko pointed to the screen.

“Here’s baby’s heart,” she said. She clicked a mouse on the computer attached to the screen and took a measurement of the beating shape.

We could hear it, too.

“This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen,” I blurted out.

Astrid squeezed my hand. She looked so proud and relieved.

“Baby’s fine,” Kiyoko said. “Do you want to know the sex? Boy or girl?”

“No,” Astrid and I said at the same time.

“Mmph,” she grunted. This seemed to be a part of her vocabulary, this strange little mmph. It conveyed “Yes, I see,” and also, “Maybe.”

The screen moved with the wand. As she traced it over Astrid’s belly, the image changed. I thought I was seeing things I could recognize, arms, legs, but who knows.

“Here’s the face,” the nurse said. “Look, Mama. The face of your baby.”

There it was, in silhouette.

“It’s a real baby. It’s a real baby in there,” I said like an idiot.

“I know. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Astrid asked me.

I nodded, awed by the glowing swimmer on the screen.

“This baby is big,” Kiyoko said. “You were exposed to compounds?”

“No,” Astrid choked out. “Never.”

“Mmph,” she said. “I think maybe so. Your uterus is small, but the baby is big. Growing too fast.”

“No,” Astrid said.

“These cramps. The body is surprised by the baby. Growing so fast.”

“We’re from Telluride,” I lied. “The compounds never reached us. But we had to evacuate anyway. We had to leave everything behind.” That was the story of a teenage boy I’d met in our tent.

“My mom said I was a really big baby,” Astrid protested.

It struck me that she was afraid of the baby being too big.

“Mmph,” Kiyoko said. She wasn’t making eye contact with us now. She was making notes on “Carrie’s” file. “US government’s doing study on pregnant women. They pay well.”