Текст книги "This is Not a Test"

Автор книги: Courtney Summers

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

He does the most condemnable thing ever.

He tries to run.

“Get him!” Trace shouts. He actually shouts that.

The world comes down on Baxter. Rhys, Cary, and Trace have him on the floor and the gun skitters beyond them. I grab it while Cary and Trace hold Baxter down and Rhys asks Cary, “Which arm? Which arm?”

Cary says, “Left! It’s the left—”

Rhys rolls up Baxter’s shirtsleeve. Grace shines the light on it. I’ve never seen a bite close up. It’s raw and angry, red and yellow teeth marks. The skin is clean—thanks to the shower—but inflamed. Weeping, sore. It looks like a fever.

“It’s not what you think. I promise, it’s not—”

Rhys presses his hand against Baxter’s forehead.

“If it’s not a bite, what is it?” Rhys asks. “You have to tell us what it is.”

“It’s—it’s not—” We wait. Baxter’s face crumples. “It’s a bite.” Harrison runs to the farthest corner of the room. “No—it’s not—it’s a bite—but it’s not—you have to listen to me—it’s not from one of them—I promise you—”

“But it’s infected,” Grace whispers. “Look at it—”

“I’m not infected! I’m not—you have to believe me, I’m not—”

“You have a bite but it’s not from the infected?” Trace asks incredulously. “That’s what you want us to believe?”

“That’s what it is!”

“Bullshit! You’re just saying that because you don’t want to die—”

“I think he’s telling the truth,” Rhys says.

But I’m the only one who hears him say it and I don’t have the courage to ask him to repeat himself. I look at Baxter’s arm, the bite, and I don’t understand how Baxter could be telling the truth. He’s infected and he needs to die.

“Who has the gun?” Cary asks. “Who has it?”

“Sloane,” Grace says.

Me. I have it. The gun. I stare at it. It’s heavy in my hands, hot. I raise it, feeling equal parts absurd and terrified out of my mind. I point it at Baxter. This is what they want me to do, isn’t it? This is what has to be done. Baxter starts to shout, but I can’t tell what he’s saying. It has the lilt of a prayer, though. I close my eyes.

“No!” Rhys shouts. “Jesus, Sloane, no—”

I imagine the gun going off. A hole between Baxter’s eyes. It’s so real to me, I start to shake. Hands around my hands. Rhys gently takes the gun from me and I feel like I’m turning into nothing and I don’t know if it’s because he is taking the gun out of my hands or because the gun was in them.

“I didn’t know what you wanted me to do,” I say faintly.

“Shoot him!” Trace. “Just fucking do it—”

“I want to put it to a vote,” Rhys says. “We have to make this fair—”

“You’re going to be outnumbered,” Cary tells him. “No matter what.”

“We don’t have to kill him—”

“What else are we going to do?”

“If I leave,” Baxter says over us, “you’ll never know how I got in.”

And then he starts to cry.

We’re not murderers.

We are still good people and this was the choice we were forced to make. Baxter has to leave or he has to die. The evidence is damning. He’s bitten. He’s unstable. He’s lied to us.

That’s more than enough, especially now.

We’re in the library. The flashlights are set on the table, aimed at us like a crude spotlight. Baxter is in front of the door, the way out, preparing himself for whatever is next. I think of Rhys and me, standing in that exact spot just days before and how much has changed in that time. Harrison and Grace hover by some shelves. Trace and Cary clear the barricades away and then they’re gone. Two things have to happen next: someone has to open the door and Baxter has to step through it. But what happens after that? He lives until the infection overtakes him? We go on, like nothing happened? Because nothing happened if no one used the gun, right? Still, Baxter’s outcome is inevitable. He is going to die.

But we’re not murderers.

Even though Rhys has the gun aimed directly at Baxter’s head.

It will only be used if Baxter is uncooperative and insists on jeopardizing us.

“If you try to get in again, however you got in before,” Cary says, “we’ll have to kill you.”

“You, Mr. Chen? You’ll do it?”

“I’ll do it,” Trace mutters.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Baxter,” Rhys says, and he sounds like he means it and it makes me feel like maybe there’s a chance we’re doing something really wrong here. “You have to realize—”

“You’ll never find it,” Baxter interrupts. “How I got in.”

“We will.”

Baxter looks at his hands. “I’m not infected, though. I was not bitten by an infected.”

He’s been saying this since we came to our decision. It’s like if he sounds plaintive enough, we’ll let him stay. If that was all we needed from him, I know we’d let him stay. I know we’re not bad people, not deep down inside.

“No one knows what I’ve been through,” he whispers.

He turns to us and I take a step back. I don’t want to look at him, don’t want his empty eyes and his hollowed-out face etched in my memory. Baxter turns to Cary.

“You were never a very good student. I couldn’t make you do anything,” he says, and Cary doesn’t argue this, just nods. Baxter sighs and closes his eyes. “Maybe, though, you’d be the one to open the door.”

“Okay,” Cary says.

He crosses in front of Baxter to do it.

Baxter charges at Cary faster than any of us can blink. I immediately see how we’ve done everything wrong. We thought we were stronger, smarter than a man who spent weeks out there on his own and lived this long. Cary doesn’t even have time to make a sound. They fall and his head collides with the door, leaving him dazed and limp enough for Baxter to grab Cary’s arm and I know what’s going to happen before it happens and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Baxter sinks his teeth into Cary’s arm.

Cary comes back to himself then, screams like I’ve never heard anyone scream before. I glimpse red and a thousand more things happen at once. Trace rips the gun out of Rhys’s hands and shouts for him to open the fucking door! Get him out of here! Rhys springs into action, heaving Baxter up by the shoulders and the whole time he does it, Baxter is still trying to make a case for himself. His teeth are stained with Cary’s blood.

“I’m not infected! You’ll see—I’m not infected!”

“Someone help me!” Rhys fights Baxter to the door. “Help me—”

I do it. I push the door open and the cold air calls to me. I want to step ahead of them both, but there’s a flurry of movement and Baxter’s flailing arm hits me in the chest, forcing me back. Rhys shoves him once. Hard.

Baxter is gone.

The door closes. It’s quiet just for a second and then his fists sound desperately against it.

Let me in.

Let me in.

Let me in.

And then it stops.

“Get the barricade back up,” Rhys says. “Now—”

“Wait,” Trace says.

“What?”

“Wait.” Trace trains the gun on Cary, who is staring at his bloody, bitten arm. “Cary’s been bitten. Doesn’t he have to go outside too?”

Cary looks up. “No—I didn’t—it’s not—”

“We all saw it, Chen. You’re bitten.”

“Trace,” Rhys says.

Trace ignores him. His eyes stay fixed on Cary.

“Trace,” I say. “Think about what you’re saying—”

“But why? That’s what we just did to Baxter. Baxter’s infected. Baxter bit Cary. Cary is infected. It’s simple. Anything that risks me or Grace is not allowed to stay in this fucking building. Chen, tell me which way you want to leave.”

Cary’s face loses all color. He holds his arm out and blood trails down it, drips onto his shirt. He silently begs Trace for his life. Trace winces, but the gun stays aimed at Cary’s face. It is so ugly.

“I brought us here,” Cary whispers.

“Doesn’t matter. Baxter bit you and now you’re infected.”

“Give me the gun, Trace,” Rhys says.

“Back the fuck off, Moreno.”

“Come on. We can quarantine him until he turns. The nurse’s office.”

“We didn’t do that for Baxter. Why should we do that for Chen? After what he did to my parents? Give me one good reason why.”

“Because Rhys is right.”

Her voice shocks us, makes us quiet. Trace’s grip on the gun nearly falters. We all turn to her. Grace stands there, nervous but determined. She moves to Trace and puts her hand on his arm. He swallows hard and I think maybe he’s as scared at the idea of killing Cary as we are. But that doesn’t really mean anything as long as he still has the gun.

“Don’t even,” he tells her.

“They’re dead. It’s not going to change. Hey, look at me,” she says. Trace refuses to. He leaves her no option but to stand directly between him and Cary. The way she moves is almost holy; Cary stares at her like she’s a saint. And Trace—as soon as she’s in front of him, he lowers the gun and I can tell that even the millisecond he had it pointed at her has hurt him, scarred him. “They wouldn’t want you to do this.”

“Grace. He. Is. Bitten.”

“But he hasn’t turned. If he turns—”

“He can do whatever he wants to me,” Cary says. He clutches his arm to his chest and I think—Cary’s going to die before me. We’ll lose Cary.

“Trace,” Grace pleads.

I stagger out of the library because I can’t listen to them talk about Cary’s fate like he’s not in the room, can’t listen to how he’s going to die before me. When I hit the hall, I run. I run upstairs, past the second floor, to the third floor. I rip the posterboard down and I stare out at Cortege below. The moon is bright enough to illuminate the street, but I don’t see Baxter and I think about how this day must have been carved out for him from the moment he was born, that he would live, find Madeline, teach high school, meet Roger, and end up in here with us, his death.

PART THREE

Cary won’t talk.

He lays on the cot while Rhys douses the bite in peroxide. It bubbles angrily and he doesn’t even flinch. Rhys dabs away the blood with a wet cloth until the wound is clean. Then salve. I can’t get over the damage, what human teeth can do. What Baxter’s teeth have done. It shouldn’t surprise me after everything we’ve seen, but it does. An actual piece of Cary’s arm is missing and that part of Cary’s arm was in Baxter’s mouth. I try to remember if he spit it out, but I can’t and then I think I’ll be sick.

“I don’t think you’re infected,” Rhys tells Cary as he bandages Cary’s arm. Cary doesn’t respond. “Cary, you’re not going to die. I mean, you’re not going to die from this.”

Cary grimaces and presses his face into his pillow. Rhys finishes with the bandages and Cary clutches his arm to his chest. He shivers. Rhys frowns and feels Cary’s forehead, just for a second. Three days. We are giving Cary three days. We figure if he hasn’t turned by then, he won’t. But I don’t think anyone believes he won’t. Three days.

In three days, it will be twenty-five days since the world ended.

Eighteen spent in this school.

It feels like years.

“Someone will bring you food. We’ll check on you by the hour. Cary.” Rhys waits for Cary to acknowledge him. He doesn’t. “Cary, if you’re still you three days from now, you’re going to be fine. So don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

Cary doesn’t say anything and I want to draw the blankets up around his shoulders, a gesture of comfort, but most of me is afraid to touch him. Rhys and I stand there and listen to him breathe and I wonder if Cary feels how sick people feel when they’re told they’re terminal, that their time on earth is going to be so much less than they thought. He must. This is the day that was carved out for him.

“Cary,” Rhys says.

Cary still doesn’t respond. Rhys stands there. I can tell he wants to do more but there’s nothing else he can do. We leave the nurse’s office. He locks the door behind him. I hate him for that, hate him for telling Cary he’s not infected and then turning around and locking that door. I’m about to tell him so when Grace appears.

“What do you want, Grace?” Rhys asks.

“How is he?”

“Well, let’s see—he’s been bitten and had a gun pointed at his face all in the span of like an hour. How do you think he is?”

“Can I see him?” she asks. Rhys sighs. “I mean alone. Not with you.”

“What do you want to see him for?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she says. “I saved him.”

He snorts. I’m amazed. I don’t know how she can say or do things like this and call me the strong one. She holds out her hand. Rhys doesn’t give her the keys right away. He stares at them for a long time, and when he finally hands them over, he’s clearly not happy about it.

“Thank you,” she says.

“Bring them straight back to me,” he says. Grace nods and moves to the door. “And Grace?” She pauses. “If I find out Trace is bothering Cary—shooting his mouth, threatening him, or just hanging around, whatever—I will beat the shit out of him. Okay?”

Grace’s face turns a furious shade of red but she wants to keep the keys more than she wants to borrow trouble, so she just nods. I want to watch her go to Cary but Rhys tugs on my hand. We walk down the hall. My back is to the nurse’s office when its door opens and closes. Rhys and I are quiet. It’s going to be weird to come back to the auditorium, just to Trace and Harrison.

“If you think he’s not infected, then why did you lock the door?” I ask.

“Because I’m the only one who thinks he’s not.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I’m an optimist, I guess.”

“Don’t bullshit me. Why do you think that?” He quickens his pace, trying to get away from me, but I stand in front of him. “You said that about Baxter too. Tell me how you know.” He clenches his jaw. “Rhys.”

“They were both bitten but they’re not … cold,” he says.

“What does that mean?”

“Baxter was bitten before he got here and he’d been in here for a couple of days. When people get bitten, they get cold. How fast it happens depends on the bite. If he was infected, he would’ve already been cold.”

“How do you know that?”

He looks away. “Doesn’t matter. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it’s different now, I don’t know. Maybe they don’t get cold anymore. But if Cary doesn’t turn in the next forty-eight hours, I don’t think he’s going to.”

“So you knew Baxter wasn’t infected and you let him go out there to die.”

“Are you kidding me? I got him out of this school alive.”

“But you didn’t say about the bites—you knew and you let them—”

“And you held the fucking gun in his face! You were ready to kill him!”

I hate when people yell at me. Hate it. There’s been so much shouting lately, it’s hard to be totally bothered by it now, but this—this is at me. I storm down the hall, but he keeps pace with me and then he cuts me off before I can step inside the auditorium. Harrison’s and Trace’s voices drift into the hall and they sound normal. It makes everything worse.

“You had the gun on him too,” I whisper.

“I know,” he says. “It doesn’t matter if he was infected or not. He lied to us and no one wanted him here. No one would have believed me about the bites if I’d said it and I already put my ass on the line for Cary. Look—hey, look at me.” I look at him. “That whole thing happened way too fast. Okay?”

I swallow. “Okay.”

We step inside the auditorium. When Grace comes back, Trace rounds on her.

“What were you doing in there with him?”

“Don’t start.”

“What the fuck were you doing in there with him alone? Are you out of your mind?”

“I just wanted to talk to him—”

“There’s nothing you need to say to Cary Chen and if there is, it’s not going to matter soon anyway. Stay away from him, Gracie. I’m not kidding.”

“He hasn’t turned,” she says.

“Yeah, well, I’m counting the days till he does. Dibs on braining him—”

“Shut the fuck up, Trace,” Rhys says, “or I’ll shut you up.”

“Try.”

Rhys moves forward and then he stops. They stare at each other and a smile slowly stretches across Trace’s face.

“Where did you put the gun?” Rhys asks.

“Somewhere safe.”

“Tell me where you put it.”

“No.”

Rhys looks a second away from exploding, jumping Trace, something. Trace senses it. His smile vanishes at the same time Rhys recovers. It’s the most incredible show of restraint.

“Why not?” Rhys asks. “I went out there for your dad. I thought we were cool.”

“That was then,” Trace replies. “I don’t like how you put Baxter before us. I don’t like how you or Price there put Chen before us. I don’t think you should have the gun.”

“But—”

“That’s fair,” Harrison says, surprising us.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t,” Rhys says slowly. “But what happens to it after Cary comes back?”

“He’s not coming back,” Trace says.

“If he hasn’t turned in three days, he’s not turning. And we’re a group,” Rhys says. “We should decide this stuff as a group—”

“Sure, whatever you say.” Trace shrugs. “Whoever thinks I should keep the gun until after this thing with Chen is resolved, raise your hand.”

Three hands go up. Trace, Grace, and Harrison.

“Okay,” Rhys says. He holds his hand out to Trace.

Trace hesitates and then they shake.

I don’t believe in either of them.

Rhys visits Cary every hour. Sometimes I want to go with him, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I keep thinking of how we sent Baxter out, him pounding against the door. The only thing that manages to pull me out of my thoughts are Grace and Trace. They argue quietly in the corner. I know it’s about Cary. Grace’s arms are crossed. Trace actually points at her like he’s her father and then she snaps something at him. They stand there for a minute, then he gives her this hug and it’s over, I guess, even if it’s not resolved. Is this how brothers and sisters fight? It’s not the way Lily and I ever fought.

Grace wanders over to me. I ask her what she said to Cary, what Trace said to her, but she won’t tell me and my prying sends her away. She flops down on one of the couches and eventually, I go to sleep. Morning has crept up on us, but it doesn’t matter. When I wake up again, it’s still day. The auditorium is uncomfortably quiet. A quick look around the room tells me Grace, Harrison, and Trace are gone. At my left is Rhys. He’s asleep, one arm splayed out, half on his mat, half off it. His hand rests on the floor, open. I get this urge I can’t resist. I reach over and gently press my index finger into his palm.

He doesn’t wake up. I do it again, let it stay there for the longest time and he’s too asleep to feel it. I stare at his face. His lips are parted slightly. His breathing is rhythmic, even. His shirt has ridden up past his abdomen.

LaVallee’s keys are clipped to his belt loop.

I want to see Cary. I don’t want to ask Rhys’s permission. I watch him for a little longer, gathering courage and when I have it, I sit up and move close to him, as close as I can get to him. My hands are at his jeans, trying to unhook the keys. This is not how I imagined the first time I’d fumble with some guy’s pants would go.

Rhys grabs my wrist and stares at me through half-lidded eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asks thickly.

“I want to see Cary.”

His eyes drift shut. He swallows.

“Just give me a minute.” He sounds distant. “We’ll go and see Cary…”

I wait, but he doesn’t move. He’s fallen back asleep and I’m glad because I want to see Cary alone. In one quick motion, I unclip the keys and hurry out of the auditorium. I don’t see Trace, Grace, or Harrison on my way to the nurse’s office and maybe I should worry about that, but I don’t because if anyone’s fine it’s them.

Cary is on his cot when I unlock the door and I think maybe I should have brought him something to eat or drink. But then I notice a tray of uneaten food on the nearby desk. Cary looks at me but he doesn’t speak.

“If you were expecting Rhys, he’s sleeping,” I say.

“Not surprised. He took a metric shit-ton of Benadryl the last time he was in here.”

I sit beside him, reach over, and press both of my hands against his face. He’s not cold. If anything, he’s hot. Cary wraps his hands around my wrist and gently lowers them.

“Did Rhys tell you about the—”

“Yes.”

“So you’re not infected,” I say. He shrugs. “I thought you’d be happy.”

“You saw how quick they were going to throw me out of here.”

“It was just Trace.”

“I really thought I was bitten, Sloane. I thought that was it for me.”

“It’s not.”

“Makes you think, though. The apocalypse: one big existential crisis.” He cracks a smile. “But whatever, right? I’m here, I’m alive, probably not infected. Great.”

“What did Grace say to you when she was in here?”

“That’s between me and her,” he says. “But I didn’t tell her what Rhys said about the bites. I don’t know if he told you but he doesn’t want them to know what he knows. He’s pissed at them.”

Neither of us says anything. It’s nice to be able to sit with someone and not say anything. Something about it makes me brave. It makes me do something I don’t entirely understand. I lean over and wrap my arms around Cary. I rest my head against his chest. He tenses but then he wraps his arms around me. I don’t feel anything about Cary that’s romantic.

I just want this.

“I loved your sister,” he says.

It’s so unexpected, it’s beyond processing. And then, as it slowly sinks in, I look up at him.

“But I Never … you said—”

“What, you think I’m going to put all my cards on the table? I knew you were freaked when I told you we had sex.” He sighs. “It was that unrequited bullshit, anyway … she didn’t know. Never knew. Now I can’t stop thinking about it. Maybe telling you is the closest I’ll get.”

“Why didn’t you tell her?”

“Lily had to keep me at an arm’s length to have sex with me. She didn’t like to get personal, so I didn’t.”

“You really think she made it?”

Cary lets the question hang in the air. The last time we talked about her, he said she’d make it but when we played I Never, he also said he’d never been in love.

“I hope she did. I like to think she did.”

“She left me,” I say. “She didn’t tell me she was going.”

“She had things to figure out.”

“I thought you said you never got personal.”

“It didn’t get personal enough.”

“What do you think she had to figure out?”

“I don’t know. She said she felt hopeless once,” he says. He pauses. “Trapped. She never felt free. I thought it was one of those post-high-school I-have-no-idea-what-I-want-to-do-with-my-life meltdowns. Was it?”

Letting this conversation happen was like putting a toe in the ocean and now the water is over my head. The way we hold each other changes, in that I stop. My whole body turns to stone. It doesn’t escape his notice. I sense my name on the tip of his tongue, but I don’t give him the opportunity to say it. I get to my feet but as soon as we’re not touching, I feel it so much.

“I should get back to the auditorium before they start wondering,” I say.

“What you should really be doing is looking for Baxter’s way in,” he says, and he’s right. That’s what I should be doing. That’s what all of us should be doing. “Don’t forget to lock the door on your way out.”

I do and then I just stand there in the hall.

What she told me: it was us two, nobody else. Our future was our freedom. She was the one who tied and knotted us together, made escape with her the only thing I wanted, convinced me there was nothing else to want.

But I knew she hated it.

I can’t do this anymore, I’m so sorry.

Just because she said it to Cary first—

I wrap my arms around myself and circle the school. Trace’s, Harrison’s, and Grace’s voices sound from the gym. When I step inside, the basketball is in Harrison’s hands and everything about this moment is something I want to kill.

“We should be looking for how Baxter got in,” I say.

“Don’t start,” Trace says. “Already got this lecture from Moreno.”

“Yeah, for good reason. It’s important we find it.”

“So important he’s all hopped up on Benadryl and passed out in the auditorium, right? Hey, have you seen Cary? Has he turned? Let me know as soon as it happens.”

I guess the sparkle of how I went outside for him has faded, all for not wanting him to kill Cary, for voting against him about the gun. I head back into the hall.

Baxter’s way in is also a way out.

If I find it, I can leave.

I comb classrooms and closets, push against walls absurdly, like they might move. I cannot find it. I go back to the auditorium. Rhys is still in a coma. I hook the keys back onto his jeans and then, impulsively, press my hand against his face. He stirs a little. Leans into my palm. I run my fingers over his skin for the longest time and he never wakes up.

Hopeless.