Lost time, p.3
Lost Time, page 3
I shake my head and a strand of my shoulder-length hair catches on my lip.
She reaches over and tucks it behind my ear. “You don’t remember how you got in that tree? Where you came from? How long you’d been Outside?”
I know I’m a terrible liar, but I’m not ready to tell her the truth and end up in the loony bin. “No,” I say. “I remember falling and hitting my head, but nothing else. I’m sorry.”
“Well that’s normal for a trauma patient. I would expect your memory to start coming back soon, though.” She glances down at her hands folded in her lap, then back up at me, her eyes suddenly tired. “It’s late, Diego, and you need to rest; so I’ll answer those two questions, and then we’ll call it a night, okay?” She’s using her doctor voice now, gentle, but non-negotiable.
What is it that she doesn’t want to tell me?
I nod and reach out for the glass of water by my bed, IV tube trailing. She leans across me and refills the glass, adjusts the straw, and then hands it to me. She lets her fingers remain around mine, waiting to make sure I’ve gripped the glass securely before letting go, and I feel a rush of sultry warmth.
She watches me take a sip and then places the back of her hand over my forehead. “Your fever is down, but I’m going to leave the IV in for now.”
I fall back into the pillow, suddenly exhausted. “Whatever you think,” I say and shut my eyes. Her touch is cool and soft, and my thoughts drift back to the last time Iz and I made love, the memory compelling and traumatic at the same time.
“Are you in pain?” Her voice startles me.
“No. I was just enjoying your touch,” I say and smile, meaning it. “It’s been a long time.”
She takes her hand away. “The year is 2048, Diego.”
The smile slips off my face and shatters into sharp little pieces on the floor.
Shit. That’s almost twenty years in the future.
There’s a flutter of panic in my chest, but it doesn’t get any traction, and a minute later it disappears, leaving me feeling disoriented.
I clear my throat. “And what is a bubble?”
“You’re in one right now: the Kirk Biodome, also known as the Bub. We’re a few miles northeast of where the Powers military base used to be.”
So I’m still in Colorado, twenty-odd years in the future.
“Why are we in a biodome?”
She sighs. “This one was built eighteen years ago. It was the first of its kind and was sealed a few hours after the Doomsday Virus was reported in the area.”
“And you’ve been inside ever since? You’re stuck in here?”
“Yes.” She stands up, checks my IV again, and adjusts the flow.
“What are you giving me?” My voice has an edge, and the question comes out as more of an accusation.
“Mainly fluids and some nourishment. Most people find it difficult to eat and d-drink while they’re unconscious.” She doesn’t look at me.
I stare at the colorless liquid dripping into my vein. “What else?”
“Nothing dangerous, Diego. Painkillers—and a mild antidepressant.”
I open my mouth to protest, but she doesn’t let me.
“You have over nineteen fractures, including five in one leg. If I wasn’t giving you medication, you’d be comatose with pain.”
I take a minute to think about it. There do seem to be monsters sloshing around in the back of my head, but I can’t seem to hold on to them long enough to feel any trepidation.
“Now that you’re awake,” she says, “I’ll give you control of the painkiller, and if you would prefer, I’ll have Lucy stop the antidepressant.”
“Thank you. Yes.” I force myself to look away from the IV. “Please go on. You were telling me about the bubble.”
She glances at her watch, but obliges. “There are eighty-three biodomes left in the Americas, 317 worldwide. Somewhere around 100,000 people survived the initial outbreak, but a number of biodomes weren’t finished and some that were finished didn’t seal properly.” She slides the chair back against the wall and then stands by my bed, her arms folded across her chest. “By the end of the year, less then 40,000 people were still alive.”
“In the whole world?”
“Yes. The vast majority are in biodomes in the US, Europe, Japan, and Australia, but the Russians have some giant underground city in the Urals too. We don’t have much contact with them, given all the finger pointing that went on after the nuke was launched, so we don’t have an exact count. The good news is most of the bubbles in the US were built to house 300 people, but the average is down below a hundred now, so we’ve plenty of room to grow.”
“Christ. That red-headed kid’s predictions were correct.”
“What predictions?”
I can feel sweat breaking out underneath my myriad casts. “Uh, you know, all those doomsayers from the last century warning about mankind doing himself in with nukes or bioweapons.”
“Right,” she says. “Okay, lights out. I’ll be back in the morning to check on you.”
“How many people survived here?”
“You mean the United States?” She glances at me, and I nod. “Somewhere around seven thousand, the majority in bubbles built in moderate climates along the coasts. As far as I know, this is the only one built at such a high altitude and so close to the mountains.”
For the second time I sense something familiar about her, but I can’t seem to grab it. “We’re in Colorado?”
“Yep. Next closest biodome is west of the Rockies near Salt Lake.” She gives me a skeptical look. “Are you starting to remember things?”
I shake my head, and then it comes to me. “You’re the street kid! The one who helped me save Isabel from the fire. I watched you break into that jewelry store, and then I convinced you and your friends to help me smash the kitten’s window in the hotel.”
She gives me a blank look.
“You saved all the animals. Don’t you remember? War and peace—and Tolstoy? And goddamn Lucky?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.” A worried look crosses her face. “Are you feeling disoriented?”
I stare at her, certain that I’m right.
Only in this universe it must have played out differently.
“Maybe a little,” I say. “It was a long time ago, and I guess I was hoping you might know something about...” I shrug. “Thanks again for saving my life, Dr. Kai.”
“Please call me Lani. And, once again, you’re welcome.” She looks at me for a minute, making some sort of decision. “But to be completely honest, there’s a more selfish reason.”
I give her the Spock eyebrow.
She turns away and fills up my water glass again. Then she picks up her clipboard, walks over to the door, and places her hand over the light switch. “In the nearly twenty years since Doomsday hit, you’re the only human being who has been Outside unprotected and lived to tell about it.”
I glance down at my body. “How do you know I’m not infected?”
“Everyone else died in a matter of minutes.”
“Shit. That sounds horrible.”
“It was.” She dims the lights. “Good night, Robinson Crusoe. Sleep well.” She shuts the door, and I hear the clipboard swinging on the hook outside.
One, two, three…
A split second later, I’m asleep.
Chapter 4
Lani: Lost and Found
After I make sure that Shannon is settled in for the night at Mindy’s, I hurry back over to the clinic, a dark shadow hanging over me. The biodome is out of pain meds, and Miracle Man is going to have a long night ahead of him. A scavenging party went out over a week ago, and they should have been back by now, but every year they have to go farther, and every year they return with less.
What are we going to do when all the medicine is gone?
“Worry about the things you can control,” I say to myself, “and let the rest go.”
There’s a blizzard raging Outside tonight, and the aging biodome is moaning and creaking under the added force of the storm. Madders is out with the foraging party, but he assured me before he left that the damaged west wall would hold until replacement parts could be found and installed.
But he’s not here tonight if something goes wrong...
I stop and listen to the wind yanking on the loose piece of wall in sector four, slamming it against the weakened framework over and over. At least with the wind, we don’t have to worry about the weight of the snow on the roof—assuming the storm doesn’t tear the whole thing down tonight.
I hold my breath and count to ten, checking for the slight breeze that signals a breach in the dome.
The air is cold and still.
I offer up a plea to the mountain gods to keep those who are Outside safe and those who are inside alive for another night.
And then I force myself to keep walking, unable to shake the ominous feeling that our time is running out.
∞
“How’s he doing?” I ask as I enter the clinic.
Lucy is sitting at the nurses’ station, finishing the drug inventory, a traditional nurse’s hat pinned in her hair. Her face is drawn and tired, and I know the answer before she says a word.
“Well, doc, I’ve been giving him the over-the-counter drugs just like you said, but his fever is up, and he’s in a lot of pain. He won’t eat or drink, and he’s thrashing around so bad the IV won’t stay in.”
“Damn.”
She gives me a worried look. “And his demons are back.”
It’s been a long time since I had to watch someone suffer, and the thought brings up acid in the back of my throat. “I’ll stay with him tonight,” I say, forcing down images of anguished children crying out for their dead parents. “Go home and get some rest.”
“But you were up last night!” she says, crossing her arms. “And the last thing we need is for our only doctor to get si—”
“I’ll be fine, Lucy. See you in the morning.”
She looks like she’s going to protest, but exhaustion wins out. “Yes, ma’am. The tallies for everything we have left are right here.” She tucks a sheet of paper back into the box with the few remaining prescription meds. “Plenty of anti-malarial tablets should there be a sudden upswing in the mosquito population.”
I force a smile. “At least that’s one thing we don’t have to worry about.”
“Praise the Lord.”
“I’ll lock everything back up for you.”
She nods and starts collecting her things. “I may stop by the radio room and see if they have an update on the foraging party. We could sure use those drugs—and Becky’s help. Wake me up if you need relievin’? I ain’t slept well since Emmett passed, so it’s no bother.”
“Thank you, Lucy, I will. And could you pass on an evacuation order for sector four, please? Tell them I said it’s just a precaution. No need to panic people, but if the storm gets worse, and that weakened strut gives out, we won’t have enough masks for everyone.”
She gives me a tired smile. “They issued the order thirty minutes ago, and I suspect the bulkheads are being sealed even as we speak. They’re calling it a drill, but I don’t think anyone was fooled.”
“Good. Shannon is staying with Mindy, so let the council know our place is available if someone needs it?”
“Will do.” She ambles toward the door. “See you first thing in the morning, doc, and good luck.”
“Thanks, Lucy. Try to get some sleep.”
I tiptoe down the hall to Miracle Man’s room and push the door open a crack.
Lucy has left a small light on, and I can see Diego tossing about on the bed, the white plaster casts on his arms and legs leaving afterimages in the dim light.
It was twenty years ago that I lay in a similar bed, begging them to let me die. I was in the ICU when the bomb went off, the blast taking out a huge section of the biodome wall in sector four. The hospital had to be evacuated, and I was suddenly one among hundreds who had been maimed or burned by the explosion or the resulting fire. Due to my compromised immune system—or maybe my connection to David—I had been given one of only a handful of private rooms in this makeshift clinic, but I could still hear the cries of the others out in the hallway, begging for water or morphine or death.
No matter how hard I try to erase that memory, I can still see Bella staring at me, her face bathed in the flickering shadows of the emergency lamps.
She didn’t even bother to come into the room. “She’ll live,” she said to no one in particular and added, “the ungrateful tramp.” I remember watching the celebrated doctor step back through the doorway, her bony white hand grabbing Lucy’s arm. “Change the bandages, but don’t give her any more pain meds. We’re going to need them for later.”
She was right, of course.
“No,” Diego calls out, banging his cast against the bedrail. “Iz, please. Don’t leave me!”
I take a clean washcloth out of the drawer, get it damp, and then sit down in the chair by Diego’s bed, wishing there was more I could do.
Who are you, and why are you here?
“Why did I wait so long?” His voice is weak, sobs slipping out around his labored words. “I need you, hun. Please don’t die on me!”
“Shh,” I say, dabbing at his feverish face. “I’m here now.”
He moans, pain twisting up his handsome face. “Oh god, not the babies—they’re so beautiful, so perfect—little Soleil’s lovely eyes and Lucas’ tiny hands. How could they be dead, Isabel?”
I stroke his cheek with the back of my hand. “Everything is going to be okay.”
“No!” He struggles against the twisted sheets, his clothes drenched with sweat and his hair matted against his face.
“Shh,” I say, placing the cool washcloth across his forehead. “Rest now.”
He grabs my wrist, his palm hot and sticky. “Don’t leave me, Iz!”
“I won’t. Go to sleep.” I use my other hand to sweep the tangled hair back from his handsome face. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
He sighs and then shuts his eyes, his hand still gripping my wrist. “I tried to get back to you, Iz. But they wouldn’t let me go.”
“I understand. Go to sleep, love.”
He entwines his fingers with mine, holding my hand against his feverish cheek. “You have to get to Dave. He can save you, Iz. Please. You need to leave now.”
I kiss him on the forehead and then put my head down next to his shoulder. “I did, Diego. I made it inside the biodome. We’re both safe now.”
He turns his head and looks at me, his eyes damp. “I love you, Iz.”
“Shh. Go to sleep. Everything will be better in the morning.”
He nods and his eyes flicker shut.
I lie in the darkness, the moans of the aging biodome like my own sobs of despair.
The hours pass, his feverish body wracked with tremors one minute and shuddering with chills the next. I try to give him more medication, but he refuses to let go of my hand, and I eventually give up and lie there next to him, both of us waiting for the storm to pass, both of us trying to believe that everything is going to be all right.
Chapter 5
Diego: Angels and Demons
There’s a soft knock on the door, and I rush to dry my face.
Lani walks in, clipboard in hand. “Good morning.” Her voice is chipper, but her eyes get big when she notices that I’ve been crying. She strides over to the window and busies herself opening the blinds while I attempt to regain control.
“I’m afraid the strongest painkiller we have left is aspirin,” she says. “But we do have plenty.” She holds up a small bottle of white pills, but I shake my head.
Maybe it would help with the pain in my body, but there’s nothing to be done about the pain in my heart. Isabel is dead, and everything I care about is gone. I walked away from the only woman I ever loved because I was stupid enough to think I could save her. She begged me not to go, not to abandon her, but I had to be the hero. In the end, all I did was seal her death warrant.
God, I’m tired of pretending to have something to live for.
I’ve been in this bed for thirteen days and nights, enough time to have a good long think about my life, and it’s pretty hard to come up with any future that doesn’t hold more suffering.
Lani comes over to my bed, her expression unreadable. “I apologize for barging in so early, but Lucy is concerned about you, and when Lucy worries, I take it seriously.” She glances at my face and then the pillow. “I’ll ask her to bring in some tissues. I think we can spare a box.”
I attempt to tell her I don’t want any more of her charity, but nothing comes out except a pathetic choking sound.
She pushes the hair back from my face and pulls an errant strand from between my lips. “I think you should take some of the aspirin. It will help with the pain.”
I look away, still unable to speak.
She lifts her hand and runs a finger down her clipboard. “We do have a few more antidepressants. Would you like me to get you one?”
I find my voice. “No. I told you, I don’t want any more happy drugs.”
She pulls a chair over from the corner and then sits down. “Okay. I can’t say I blame you. If you want to get better, at some point you’ll have to face reality, however painful that might be.”
I shut my eyes. “I don’t want to get better. I want to die.”
A scene from The Andromeda Strain runs through my head: Tumbleweeds blow across a desolate one-lane highway leading into an isolated town. It’s late summer, and the scene is dusty and hot. Dogs lie sprawled on the parched lawns and cats on threadbare porch swings, their mouths hanging open in grotesque attempts to breathe the poisoned air. The camera pans out. Dead bodies are everywhere: men slumped against steering wheels, children crumpled next to empty park swings, women collapsed on the worn parquet tile of a lifeless shop. The camera zooms in on a single face, and Isabel’s dead eyes stare back at me.
