Текст книги "The Variables"

Автор книги: Shelbi Wescott

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 31 страниц)

CHAPTER TWELVE

“I need petri dish number four in the fridge,” Scott told Grant as he stood over the inverted microscope underneath his laminar flow hood, examining a glass slide with focused intensity. Grant hopped down off of the metal bed in the corner of the lab and walked over to Scott’s refrigerator. It was the grossest collection of specimens Grant had ever seen: tissue and organ samples, jars of floating liquid, vials tipping precariously in wooden holders, and an expired Greek yogurt container—which Scott said was unequivocally not his, although he couldn’t account for its appearance.

Grabbing the petri dish with care, Grant walked it over to Scott as if he were balancing an egg on a spoon. He took each step deliberately, watching the dish. It was filled with a pink liquid and it wobbled a bit as he walked.

“You don’t have to dawdle,” Scott informed him. “You’re not carrying the virus.” And then Scott chuckled as Grant let out a sigh of relief.

“You could tell me, you know,” Grant said in a gush.

“Okay. I asked you to get me my HeLa cell samples.”

“That sounds important.”

“They are important.” Scott reached out and took the petri dish. He used a small pipette to drop the mixture on to a slide; then he used a second pipette to drop another mixture on to the slide. Closing the slide tight, his gloved hands placed the combination on the microscope and watched.

“You infected those cells?” Grant asked.

“Yes,” Scott answered. He wasn’t very talkative today, and Grant meandered back to the old bed, where Scott used to do all his experiments, and lifted himself to sit on the metal edge; he watched Scott work tirelessly with meticulous attention to detail. There was no sound in the lab except the subtle whistling of Scott’s nostrils as he breathed in and out through his nose.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Grant said in a slow drawl. “What do you have against dogs?”

Scott didn’t look up. He shook his head. “What?” he mumbled. “Dogs?”

“Yeah. You know. The dogs…all the dogs.” Grant felt stupid for asking. He looked at the tabletop and ran his hands over the shiny edges.

“You mean…the first virus release? Our test?” Scott asked. He moved a slide and picked up another. He adjusted his lens. “We created a test. A virus specific to dogs, animals in the Canidae family. If the dogs died, then the virus would reach our targets, too. In places where canids remained alive, we knew we needed to find a better way to infiltrate those areas on Release Day. I don’t hate dogs. Even if they are dirty, germy…always licking. Here,” Scott picked up a bottle and handed it back to Grant. He took it to the storage area and then walked back, shuffling his feet on the tile.

The room went quiet again. A machine hummed. Something in the other part of the lab clicked on and off.

“Thanks for letting me come help today,” Grant said after a bit, and Scott raised his head, and looked at Grant. He smiled and turned his back to his work. “I mean, I know you’re so busy and all.” Grant waited out the delayed response in silence.

After a long second, Scott turned and looked at Grant. “I’ve been ignoring you, haven’t I?”

“Nah. I mean...I’m good as an errand boy and whatnot,” Grant replied. “You don’t owe me conversation, too.”

“Yeah, well,” Scott said. He turned back to his microscope and tinkered with the slide, tapping it slightly. They were quiet again.

When the silence became unbearable, Grant hopped off the bed and took a step forward and said, “So...Copia?”

Scott stiffened and then turned; he stopped working on the microscope and he held his fingers in mid-air. He assessed Grant with embarrassment or nervousness, Grant couldn’t tell. “I’m working on it. Must have been an oversight.” He lowered his eyes to the ground and stared at a mark on the floor.

“Well, I was thinking...” Grant started and he looked at the ground. “Maybe it was because I’m not family? You know?”

Grant’s tone forced Scott to look up and face the young man fully. He looked at him, perplexed. Then a flash of understanding danced on his face and he tilted his head, waiting for Grant to express explicitly what was on his mind, his eyes widening with a hint of both confusion and bemusement.

“Maybe...if you think it would be a good idea...Lucy and I could...” Grant paused and sighed. “Man, I didn’t think I’d be nervous to say it. It’s just a suggestion. Like getting married for a green card, right?”

Scott turned quickly back to the microscope. “Are you asking permission to marry my daughter, Grant?”

“Well, no. But kinda. I mean...do you think that would work? Could I get a Kymberlin placement that way?” He rubbed his hands together and grimaced; he felt so exposed, just standing there, open, asking to marry Lucy. Even if he wasn’t really asking to marry Lucy. “It was just a thought. You don’t have to answer right now—”

“I hadn’t thought about it until now,” Scott said without moving. “How marriage will work. I mean...Huck’s selective breeding plan will go into effect once everyone’s situated, and that may not go over well for couples. So, marriage, as a social construct, may not exist. Couplings will happen, for sure, and most people here are already married. I’m sure it’s something that’s been discussed, but I haven’t been involved in the details. But I hadn’t even really been forced to process that aspect until now...”

Grant swallowed. “Selective breeding?”

“It’s best you forget that for the time being.”

“You say that to me a lot,” Grant blurted and then laughed nervously. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry. Copia’s on my mind. It’s getting closer, you know. Travel day.”

“It’s on my mind, too,” Scott replied and he shot a sympathetic look behind him. Then he added, “Switching your placement to Kymberlin will have to be my doing. I’ll have to go to Huck.” As if it were an afterthought, Scott added, “I think that might be the point.” He sighed out his nose and went back to work. “I need the second sample...it’s labeled in yellow.”

Dutifully, Grant went back to retrieve the second petri dish. He hesitated again before sliding it off the rack and into his hand.

“Also, the...what did you call them? Hula?” Grant asked as he made his way back to Scott.

“HeLa? No. These are my live virus samples...”

The news made Grant freeze and he looked with worry down at the liquid. It was covered with a lid, and the thick tape across the top obscured the contents inside. Sometimes it was easy to forget what Scott was doing in this lab, tucked away just off the main hallway, steps away from the indoor park, and the movie theater. The tests, the tubes, the hours of staring at cells—all of it was for some purpose that Scott never discussed. The world was gone, and the virus had done its work. Yet here he was, still studying, concocting. Evil took many forms. Of this Grant was certain. Somehow, the more he dwelled on the actual reasons behind Scott’s focused tenacity, the more he realized how easy it was to get carried away with the science—and leave the implications of those experiments behind.

Grant handed the dish over to Scott and, instead of retreating he stood and watched over his shoulder. “What are you looking for exactly with all these things?”

Scott didn’t answer.

“You still trying to figure out why I exist?”

“Something like that.”

“Or are you doing something else entirely?”

At last Scott nodded, and he pulled his gloves off carefully, and tossed them on to the counter in the lab. “It’s difficult. This work. You see epidemiologic analysis has problems because of something we like to call dependent happenings.”

“Dependent happenings?”

“Yes, for example, like you,” Scott replied. “There is no reason why my virus shouldn’t have worked on you. But there must be something in your cells, your genomes, genetics, that stops it. Why? I don’t know. How? I don’t know. But that’s my job. You see...you have to have a control when you conduct experiments because you need to know if your experiments are a result of the variable you are testing. Does that make sense? It’s part of the scientific method, basic science, the effects of variables.”

“I don’t understand,” Grant said as an apology.

Scott laughed. “You’re an unaccounted for variable. That’s all. But I couldn’t test all seven billion people before we released my virus, so if you look at my data...look...it’s just...my experiments were faulty. My experimental group always died. Some immediately, some after day six. A one-hundred percent death rate. But here you are.”

“An unaccounted for variable?”

“Exactly.”

“Why does it matter?” Grant asked. He scratched his head and looked up at the ceiling. “I’m here. I’m alive...Huck thinks I’m a miracle. So, why does it matter why?”

Scott looked like he was about to launch into an explanation, but he stopped himself. He rubbed his temple and tilted his head toward the low-wattage lights that ran along the ceiling. “Well...the biggest issue, for me, is how many more like you must exist out there. And when Huck finds out...well...that’s not a conversation I’d like to have with him. But, also, I’m not looking into your matter entirely. There are more pressing jobs I’ve been assigned,” he answered, putting emphasis on each word.

“Okay, but you’re still messing with the virus—” Grant stopped mid-sentence. He saw the look of warning in Scott’s eyes and he froze. He sniffed and took a deep breath. “I don’t mean to be annoying. I just liked helping, but seriously, I can go.” He thumbed his hand toward the door and went to leave.

“Please,” Scott said kindly. “I like the company.”

“But you can’t tell me what you’re working on? That’s cool I guess.”

Scott turned back to his workstation.

Grant stepped forward. “Unless...you’re not trying to kill me again, are you?”

From behind, Grant could see Scott’s shoulders tighten and his breath caught short. But before he could respond, the door to lab swung open, and Gordy entered, whistling loudly, and wrapping his knuckles on the workbenches as he walked.

“Good news!” Gordy announced. “I’ve procured a little shithead for you. Perfect for some experiments. Roughed up Claude’s daughter while she was visiting the hospital wing. He’s in the tanks right now—” he cut his dialogue short as he saw Grant standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

Grant had shoved his hands deep into his jeans pockets and pulled one out to give an uncomfortable, but tidy wave. He felt himself blushing from embarrassment, and then he felt even hotter as he realized that he had inherited his girlfriend’s trademark response.

“I didn’t realize you were allowing company into your secure lab,” Gordy said as an indictment.

But Scott didn’t miss a beat. “My lab is always open for curious scientific minds,” he replied. Then without acknowledging Grant’s presence more than that, he looked at Gordy straight on and added, “Grant was just leaving.”

Grant sheepishly slid by Gordy and, without saying a proper goodbye to Scott, exited the lab and ventured down the hallway. Whether or not Gordy thought his boisterous announcement had been missed, Grant didn’t know, or care. But he had heard enough to know that something happened to Cass and someone was about to pay for it. Fueled by worry and curiosity, Grant marched to the elevators, and started his way toward Lucy’s pod.

The King apartment was empty, but it didn’t take long for him to hear the muffled conversation emanating from the conjoined wall. There was a pattern to the voices: deep and pulsating; then bright, quick and intense; followed by weepy and soft, a cooing as smooth as a lullaby. Grant left the family room, littered with Harper’s puzzles, abandoned articles of clothing and discarded books, and walked back out into the hall. He knocked tentatively on the Salvant’s apartment door. After a second, the door slid open, and Lucy peered out. Her face was red and splotchy and tear-stained. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hurried him inside.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered. “Cass was attacked.”

“I heard,” Grant replied.

“How did you hear?” Lucy asked. “The guards just brought her back.”

Grant shrugged. “Gordy came to get your dad...”

“Oh, wow,” Lucy breathed, understanding the implication immediately. “Come on.”

The Salvant’s living room was darker than usual; only a single lamp burned in the corner, illuminating part of the couch and the floor, and cloaking everything else in dusky darkness. Cass sat huddled against her mother, her head resting on Atabei Salvant’s shoulder, while Atabei rubbed her daughter’s arm. Maxine sat on the other side of Cass, looking all business, her mouth drawn in a tight-lipped frown.

Taking Grant’s hand, Lucy led him to a chair by the far wall. Together they sat and watched Claude, his body was still, but his eyes focused on the ceiling, then the floor, and then his daughter, in a loop.

Grant realized his arrival had effectively stopped the conversation. He looked down at the floor, away from the group, and rubbed his hand against the arm of the chair.

“Grant said that Gordy came to get Dad,” Lucy said. “They have Hunter in the tanks.”

That announcement spurred Claude into action. He looked at Atabei who nodded her approval, and then Cass’s father started walking to the door.

Cass sat up and looked panicked.

“That’s unacceptable,” she called to him, wiping away a tear. “No... ne les laissez pas le tuer! Please, papa. Cela ne peut pas être le seul moyen!”

Atabei put a firm hand on Cass’s shoulder, but Cass wiped it away.

“Papa,” Cass said again. Claude turned. “Vous avez le pouvoir de ...”

“You are wrong,” Claude replied in English, as he turned to go. “I support this decision. That boy attacked you. Where were our guards? I can only think of what they would have done if—” he stopped and put up his hand. “This is done, Cass. It’s done.” Then he was gone, out into the hallway, his footsteps echoing behind him.

“Mama?” Cass pleaded, getting to her feet. Grant saw now that Cass’s shirt had been torn, and it had ripped at the seam, exposing the left side of her body, and a lacy bra. He looked away. “It’s not right...”

“I’ll go after him,” Lucy said, and she stood to go, letting her hand slip from Grant’s as she began to walk across the apartment. “Maybe I can get him to see...”

Maxine’s voice was tired, but commanding. “Absolutely not, Lucy. You will let your father and Cass’s father handle this.”

Fuming, Lucy turned. “How can you say that? Our whole lives you taught us to stand up for a wrong when we saw it! You can sit there and say to me that Hunter deserves to die? That’s honestly what you think? Punished is one thing...but the tanks, mom, the tanks are awful.” Grant watched as Lucy grabbed her chest as if she was in pain.

“If I didn’t know any better,” Cass added, her voice calm and calculated, “I’d imagine that Hunter was encouraged to assault me. Planted the seed that I needed to be put in my place.” When she pointed to the door, her shirt slipped further down—she snatched it and held its loose ends tight in her hands. “Just so he could make his war a self-fulfilling prophecy. Hunter was good bait...so ripe for influence. So full of hate.” She shivered.

“And so you wish him health and happiness?” Atabei asked. “That boy was not going to settle for pawing at you, ripping your clothes. You think he would have stopped there? You wish for him to live alongside us in the new world?”

“I don’t know,” Cass whispered. “Does he deserve to die?”

“That is not the way this world works,” Maxine said. She sounded weary, but resolute.

Lucy took a step toward her own mother, “Someday I hope to wake up from this nightmare and discover that you have some master plan...either that or we have some invasion of the body snatcher’s type of experiments going on. Because you are not my mother. I don’t know who you are,” Lucy paused, suddenly full of emotion, “but when you find her, can you let her know I miss her?”

Her mother flinched. Pain flickered for just a second, and then her features hardened.

“Yes, well,” Maxine replied, her voice low. “How quickly we forget what our parents do for us.” She turned and looked at Grant, her eyes wide and flashing. “Let’s reevaluate what we’ve gained, shall we? Although you might want to consider a change of careers. Running around saving all these teenage boys seems a bit gauche if you ask me. You can’t think of any other pro-social platform you can get worked up about?”

Lucy’s mouth dropped open and she withdrew as if slapped. She tried to form a retort, but before she could her mother stalked forward, stopping merely inches from Lucy’s face.

“Don’t you dare attempt to win a war of words with me. You have something to say, and if you don’t want to be embarrassed, you discuss it privately,” Maxine whispered. “I will not stand for being disrespected. You want to fight a war? That war is not with me. You want to fight a war with me? You will lose.”

Grant put his hand on Lucy’s back and moved her toward the door, but he felt resistance as he pushed. The tension was palpable, and he never handled conflict with much ease. He resisted the urge to smirk or make a joke. An ill-timed smile had been the bane of his formative elementary school years. Cutting remarks and tension were the building blocks of his mother and father’s relationship. Until the cancer. Imminent death always had a way of masking the anger.

He was on Lucy’s side, and he understood the basis of her moral argument, but he couldn’t help but think that Maxine had a valid argument, too. The girls were wasting their energy. If the men in charge wanted Hunter dead, then there was nothing any of them could do to stop it.

Maxine spun and extended both hands to Atabei. “We’ve overstayed our welcome. I’ll take my own troubles back to my place. You don’t need our drama cluttering up your own issues,” she said, gripping Atabei’s hands firmly in her own. And with that, she walked briskly out of the apartment and waited in the hallway for Grant and Lucy to follow.

Lucy turned and rushed to Cass, burying her face in her friend’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. All of this,” Lucy said. “We hardly had a minute to talk. What were you doing down there anyway?” she asked, but she stopped and put her hands up, recognizing her inopportune intrusiveness. “I’m sorry. That was a dumb question. It doesn’t matter.”

Cass hugged Lucy again and sighed. “I think I need to go lie down,” she said and disappeared without another word into her bedroom.

Out in the hallway, Maxine tapped her fingers against the wall.

Lucy glared at her mother, but her mother ignored her with dogged tenacity.

They entered their own apartment and stopped short.

Ethan was sitting on the couch. His legs, real and artificial, were outstretched before him, and two crutches leaned against the coffee table. He was burying his head in his hands, and when they entered, he looked up, his eyes red.

He stood up, the prosthetic holding his weight, and he moved forward with a jerky, unsure movements. The fake leg was stiff, and he moved with the gait of Frankenstein’s monster as he came toward them. His mother’s and sister’s shock must have amused him, because his lips curled into a reserved smile.

Ethan took two more steps and Maxine moved toward him, her eyes filling with tears.

“Stop,” Ethan said, putting his hand out. She stopped. “I want to see Teddy,” he said.

Maxine sighed. “I don’t know if you can...Blair’s been keeping him pretty isolated.”

Grant noticed that Ethan’s shirt was covered in blood. Thick, blackening streaks spread across the white cotton. Ethan caught him staring at the stains, and before Grant could say anything, he pulled the shirt off and held it in a ball in his hands. He didn’t toss it to the floor; he just stood there, holding the bloodied shirt tightly, and staring at his family, expressionless.

“You are looking good,” Maxine said. “There’s some color back in your cheeks.”

“Don’t,” Ethan replied.

“Ethan—”

He took another stilted step forward. “Stop, please. There are two things I want. I want to see Teddy and I want to get away from this place. Just tell me when we get to leave...tell me when we can get out of this hellhole.”