The Host (32 page)

“Armed humans aren't just an accident,” someone muttered. I was moving hot rolls; I didn't see who spoke, and I didn't recognize the voice.

“Yes, that's true,” I agreed evenly.

“So you don't know what they use to cure diseases, then?” Geoffrey pressed. “What's in their medications?”

I shook my head. “I'm sorry, I don't. It wasn't something I was interested in, back when I had access to the information. I'm afraid I took it for granted. Good health is simply a given on every planet I've lived on.”

Geoffrey's red cheeks flushed brighter than usual. He looked down, an angry set to his mouth.

What had I said to offend him?

Heath, sitting beside Geoffrey, patted his arm. There was a pregnant silence in the room.

“Uh–about the Vultures…” Ian said–the words were forced, a deliberate subject change. “I don't know if I missed this part sometime, but I don't remember you ever explaining about them being 'unkind'… ?”

It wasn't something I
had
explained, but I was pretty sure he wasn't really that interested–this was just the first question he'd been able to think of.

My informal class ended earlier than usual. The questions were slow, and most of them supplied by Jamie and Ian. Geoffrey's questions had left everyone else preoccupied.

“Well, we've got an early one tomorrow, tearing down the stalks…” Jeb mused after yet another awkward silence, making the words a dismissal. People rose to their feet and stretched, talking in low voices that weren't casual enough.

“What did I say?” I whispered to Ian.

“Nothing. They've got mortality on their minds.” He sighed.

My human brain made one of those leaps in understanding that they called intuition.

“Where's Walter?” I demanded, still whispering.

Ian sighed again. “He's in the south wing. He's… not doing well.”

“Why didn't anyone tell me?”

“Things have been… difficult for you lately, so…”

I shook my head impatiently at that consideration. “What's wrong with him?” Jamie was there beside me now; he took my hand.

“Some of Walter's bones snapped, they're so brittle,” he said in a hushed voice. “Doc's sure it's cancer–final stages, he says.”

“Walt must have been keeping quiet about the pain for a long while now,” Ian added somberly.

I winced. “And there's nothing to be done? Nothing at all?” Ian shook his head, keeping his brilliant eyes on mine. “Not for us. Even if we weren't stuck here, there would be no help for him now. We never cured that one.” I bit my lip against the suggestion I wanted to make. Of course there was nothing to do for Walter. Any of these humans would rather die slowly and in pain than trade their mind for their body's cure. I could understand that… now.

“He's been asking for you,” Ian continued. “Well, he says your name sometimes; it's hard to tell what he means–Doc's keeping him drunk to help with the pain.”

“Doc feels real bad about using so much of the alcohol himself,” Jamie added. “Bad timing, all around.”

“Can I see him?” I asked. “Or will that make the others unhappy?” Ian frowned and snorted. “Wouldn't that be just like some people, to get worked up over this?” He shook his head. “Who cares, though, right? If it's Walt's final wish…”

“Right,” I agreed. The word
final
had my eyes burning. “If seeing me is what Walter wants, then I guess it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks, or if they get mad.”

“Don't worry about that–I'm not going to let anybody harass you.” Ian's white lips pressed into a thin line.

I felt anxious, like I wanted to look at a clock. Time had ceased to mean much to me, but suddenly I felt the weight of a deadline. “Is it too late to go tonight? Will we disturb him?”

“He's not sleeping regular hours. We can go see.”

I started walking at once, dragging Jamie because he still gripped my hand. The sense of passing time, of endings and finality, propelled me forward. Ian caught up quickly, though, with his long stride.

In the moonlit garden cavern, we passed others who for the most part paid us no mind. I was too often in the company of Jamie and Ian to cause any curiosity, though we weren't headed for the usual tunnels.

The one exception was Kyle. He froze midstride when he saw his brother beside me. His eyes flashed down to see Jamie's hand in mine, and then his lips twisted into a snarl.

Ian squared his shoulders as he absorbed his brother's reaction–his mouth curled into a mirror of Kyle's–and he deliberately reached for my other hand. Kyle made a noise like he was about to be sick and turned his back on us.

When we were in the blackness of the long tunnel south, I tried to free that hand. Ian gripped it tighter.

“I wish you wouldn't make him angrier,” I muttered.

“Kyle is wrong. Being wrong is sort of a habit with him. He'll take longer than anyone else to get over it, but that doesn't mean we should make allowances for him.”

“He frightens me,” I admitted in a whisper. “I don't want him to have more reasons to hate me.”

Ian and Jamie squeezed my hands at the same time. They spoke simultaneously.

“Don't be afraid,” Jamie said.

“Jeb's made his opinion very clear,” Ian said.

“What do you mean?” I asked Ian.

“If Kyle can't accept Jeb's rules, then he's no longer welcome here.”

“But that's wrong. Kyle belongs here.”

Ian grunted. “He's staying… so he'll just have to learn to deal.” We didn't talk again through the long walk. I was feeling guilty–it seemed to be a permanent emotional state here. Guilt and fear and heartbreak. Why had I come?

Because you do belong here, oddly enough,
Melanie whispered. She was very aware of the warmth of Ian's and Jamie's hands, wrapped around and twined with mine.
Where else have you
ever had this?

Nowhere,
I confessed, feeling only more depressed.
But it doesn't make me belong. Not the way
you do.

We're a package deal, Wanda.

As if I needed reminding.…

I was a little surprised to hear her so clearly. She'd been quiet the last two days, waiting, anxious, hoping to see Jared again. Of course, I'd been similarly occupied.

Maybe he's with Walter. Maybe that's where he's been,
Melanie thought hopefully.

That's not why we're going to see Walter.

No. Of course not.
Her tone was repentant, but I realized that Walter did not mean as much to her as he did to me. Naturally, she was sad that he was dying, but she had accepted that outcome from the beginning. I, on the other hand, could not bring myself to accept it, even now.

Walter was my friend, not hers. I was the one he'd defended.

One of those dim blue lights greeted us as we approached the hospital wing. (I knew now that the lanterns were solar powered, left in sunny corners during the day to charge.) We all moved more quietly, slowing at the same time without having to discuss it.

I hated this room. In the darkness, with the odd shadows thrown by the weak glow, it seemed only more forbidding. There was a new smell–the room reeked of slow decay and stinging alcohol and bile.

Two of the cots were occupied. Doc's feet hung over the edge of one; I recognized his light snore. On the other, looking hideously withered and misshapen, Walter watched us approach.

“Are you up for visitors, Walt?” Ian whispered when Walter's eyes drifted in his direction.

“Ungh,” Walter moaned. His lips drooped from his slack face, and his skin gleamed wetly in the low light.

“Is there anything you need?” I murmured. I pulled my hands free–they fluttered helplessly in the air between me and Walter.

His loosely rolling eyes searched the darkness. I took a step closer.

“Is there anything we can do for you? Anything at all?”

His eyes roamed till they found my face. Abruptly, they focused through the drunken stupor and the pain.

“Finally,” he gasped. His breath wheezed and whistled. “I knew you would come if I waited long enough. Oh, Gladys, I have so much to tell you.”

Ifroze and then looked quickly over my shoulder to see if someone was behind me.

“Gladys was his wife,” Jamie whispered almost silently. “She didn't escape.”

“Gladys,” Walter said to me, oblivious to my reaction. “Would you believe I went and got cancer? What are the odds, eh? Never took a sick day in my life…” His voice faded out until I couldn't hear it, but his lips continued to move. He was too weak to lift his hand; his fingers dragged themselves toward the edge of the cot, toward me.

Ian nudged me forward.

“What should I do?” I breathed. The sweat beading on my forehead had nothing to do with the humid heat.

“. . . grandfather lived to be a hundred and one,” Walter wheezed, audible again. “Nobody ever had cancer in my family, not even the cousins. Didn't your aunt Regan have skin cancer, though?”

He looked at me trustingly, waiting for an answer. Ian poked me in the back.

“Um…” I mumbled.

“Maybe that was Bill's aunt,” Walter allowed.

I shot a panicked glance at Ian, who shrugged. “Help,” I mouthed at him.

He motioned for me to take Walter's searching fingers.

Walter's skin was chalk white and translucent. I could see the faint pulse of blood in the blue veins on the back of his hand. I lifted his hand gingerly, worried about the slender bones that Jamie had said were so brittle. It felt too light, as if it were hollow.

“Ah, Gladdie, it's been hard without you. It's a nice place here; you'll like it, even when I'm gone. Plenty of people to talk to–I know how you need to have your conversation.…” The volume of his voice sank until I couldn't make out the words anymore, but his lips still shaped the words he wanted to share with his wife. His mouth kept moving, even when his eyes closed and his head lolled to the side.

Ian found a wet cloth and began wiping Walter's shining face.

“I'm not good at… at deception,” I whispered, watching Walter's mumbling lips to make sure he wasn't listening to me. “I don't want to upset him.”

“You don't have to say anything,” Ian reassured me. “He's not lucid enough to care.”

“Do I look like her?”

“Not a bit–I've seen her picture. Stocky redhead.”

“Here, let me do that.”

Ian gave me the rag, and I cleaned the sweat off Walter's neck. Busy hands always made me feel more comfortable. Walter continued to mumble. I thought I heard him say, “Thanks, Gladdie, that's nice.”

I didn't notice that Doc's snores had stopped. His familiar voice was suddenly there behind me, too gentle to startle.

“How is he?”

“Delusional,” Ian whispered. “Is that the brandy or the pain?”

“More the pain, I would think. I'd trade my right arm for some morphine.”

“Maybe Jared will produce another miracle,” Ian suggested.

“Maybe,” Doc sighed.

I wiped absently at Walter's pallid face, listening more intently now, but they didn't speak of Jared again.

Not here,
Melanie whispered.

Looking for help for Walter,
I agreed.

Alone,
she added.

I thought about the last time I'd seen him–the kiss, the belief…
He probably wanted some time
to himself.

I hope he isn't out there convincing himself that you're a very talented actress-slash-Seeker
again.…

That's possible, of course.

Melanie groaned silently.

Ian and Doc murmured in quiet voices about inconsequential things, mostly Ian catching Doc up on what was going on in the caves.

“What happened to Wanda's face?” Doc whispered, but I could still hear him easily.

“More of the same,” Ian said in a tight voice.

Doc made an unhappy noise under his breath and then clicked his tongue.

Ian told him a bit about tonight's awkward class, about Geoffrey's questions.

“It would have been convenient if Melanie had been possessed by a Healer,” Doc mused.

I flinched, but they were behind me and probably didn't notice.

“We're lucky it was Wanda,” Ian murmured in my defense. “No one else –”

“I know,” Doc interrupted, good-natured as always. “I guess I should say, it's too bad Wanda didn't have more of an interest in medicine.”

“I'm sorry,” I murmured. I
was
careless to reap the benefits of perfect health without ever being curious about the cause.

A hand touched my shoulder. “You have nothing to apologize for,” Ian said.

Jamie was being very quiet. I looked around and saw that he was curled up on the cot where Doc had been napping.

“It's late,” Doc noted. “Walter's not going anywhere tonight. You should get some sleep.”

“We'll be back,” Ian promised. “Let us know what we can bring, for either of you.” I laid Walter's hand down, patting it cautiously. His eyes snapped open, focusing with more awareness than before.

“Are you leaving?” he wheezed. “Do you have to go so soon?” I took his hand again quickly. “No, I don't have to leave.” He smiled and closed his eyes again. His fingers locked around mine with brittle strength.

Ian sighed.

“You can go,” I told him. “I don't mind. Take Jamie back to his bed.” Ian glanced around the room. “Hold on a sec,” he said, and then he grabbed the cot closest to him. It wasn't heavy–he lifted it easily and slid it into place next to Walter's. I stretched my arm to the limit, trying not to jostle Walter, so that Ian could arrange the cot under it. Then he grabbed me up just as easily and set me on the cot beside Walter. Walter's eyes never fluttered. I gasped quietly, caught off guard by the casual way Ian was able to put his hands on me–as though I were human.

Ian jerked his chin toward Walter's hand clasped around mine. “Do you think you can sleep like that?”

“Yes, I'm sure I can.”

“Sleep well, then.” He smiled at me, then turned and lifted Jamie from the other cot. “Let's go, kid,” he muttered, carrying the boy with no more effort than if he were an infant. Ian's quiet footsteps faded into the distance until I couldn't hear them anymore.

Doc yawned and went to sit behind the desk he'd constructed out of wooden crates and an aluminum door, taking the dim lamp with him. Walter's face was too dark to see, and that made me nervous. It was like he was already gone. I took comfort in his fingers, still curled stiffly around mine.

Doc began to shuffle through some papers, humming almost inaudibly to himself. I drifted off to the sound of the gentle rustling.

Walter recognized me in the morning.

He didn't wake until Ian showed up to escort me back; the cornfield was due to be cleared of the old stalks. I promised Doc I would bring him breakfast before I got to work. The very last thing I did was to carefully loosen my numb fingers, freeing them from Walter's grasp.

His eyes opened. “Wanda,” he whispered.

“Walter?” I wasn't sure how long he would know me, or if he would remember last night. His hand clutched at the empty air, so I gave him my left, the one that wasn't dead.

“You came to see me. That was nice. I know… with the others back… must be hard… for you… Your face…”

He seemed to be having a difficult time making his lips form the words, and his eyes went in and out of focus. How like him, that his first words to me would be full of concern.

“Everything's fine, Walter. How are you feeling?”

“Ah –” He groaned quietly. “Not so… Doc?”

“Right here,” Doc murmured, close behind me.

“Got any more liquor?” he gasped.

“Of course.”

Doc was already prepared. He held the mouth of a thick glass bottle to Walter's slack lips and carefully poured the dark brown liquid in slow drips into his mouth. Walter winced as each sip burned down his throat. Some of it trickled out the side of his mouth and onto his pillow. The smell stung my nose.

“Better?” Doc asked after a long moment of slow pouring.

Walter grunted. It didn't sound like assent. His eyes closed.

“More?” Doc asked.

Walter grimaced and then moaned.

Doc cursed under his breath. “Where's Jared?” he muttered.

I stiffened at the name. Melanie stirred and then drifted again.

Walter's face sagged. His head rolled back on his neck.

“Walter?” I whispered.

“The pain's too much for him to stay conscious. Let him be,” Doc said.

My throat felt swollen. “What can I do?”

Doc's voice was desolate. “About as much as I can. Which is nothing. I'm useless.”

“Don't be like that, Doc,” I heard Ian murmur. “This isn't your fault. The world doesn't work the way it used to. No one expects more of you.”

My shoulders hunched inward. No, their world didn't work the same way anymore.

A finger tapped my arm. “Let's go,” Ian whispered.

I nodded and started to pull my hand free again.

Walter's eyes rolled open, unseeing. “Gladdie? Are you here?” he implored.

“Um… I'm here,” I said uncertainly, letting his fingers lock around mine.

Ian shrugged. “I'll get you both some food,” he whispered, and then he left.

I waited anxiously for him to return, unnerved by Walter's misconception. Walter murmured Gladys's name over and over, but he didn't seem to need anything from me, for which I was grateful. After a while, half an hour maybe, I began listening for Ian's footsteps in the tunnel, wondering what could be taking him so long.

Doc stood by his desk the whole time, staring into nothing with his shoulders slumped. It was easy to see how useless he felt.

And then I did hear something, but it wasn't footsteps.

“What is that?” I asked Doc in a whisper; Walter was quiet again, maybe unconscious. I didn't want to disturb him.

Doc turned to look at me, cocking his head to the side at the same time to listen.

The noise was a funny thrumming, a fast, soft beat. I thought I heard it get just a little louder, but then it seemed quieter again.

“That's weird,” Doc said. “It almost sounds like…” He paused, his forehead furrowing in concentration as the unfamiliar sound faded.

We were listening intently, so we heard the footsteps when they were still far away. They did not match the expected, even pace of Ian's return. He was running–no, sprinting.

Doc reacted immediately to the sound of trouble. He jogged quickly out to meet Ian. I wished I could see what was wrong, too, but I didn't want to upset Walter by trying to free my hand again. I listened hard instead.

“Brandt?” I heard Doc say in surprise.

“Where is it?
Where is it?
” the other man demanded breathlessly. The running footsteps only paused for a second, then started up again, not quite as fast.

“What are you talking about?” Doc asked, calling back this way.

“The parasite!” Brandt hissed impatiently, anxiously, as he burst through the arched entry.

Brandt was not a big man like Kyle or Ian; he was probably only a few inches taller than me, but he was thick and solid as a rhinoceros. His eyes swept the room; his piercing gaze focused on my face for half a second, then took in Walter's oblivious form, and then raced around the room only to end up on me again.

Doc caught up with Brandt then, his long fingers gripping Brandt's shoulder just as the broader man took the first step in my direction.

“What are you doing?” Doc asked, his voice the closest to a growl I'd ever heard it.

Before Brandt answered, the odd sound returned, going from soft to screaming loud to soft again with a suddenness that had us all frozen. The beats thudded right on top of one another, shaking the air when they were at their loudest.

“Is that–is that a helicopter?” Doc asked, whispering.

“Yes,” Brandt whispered back. “It's the Seeker–the one from before, the one who was looking for
it.
” He jerked his chin at me.

My throat was suddenly too small–the breaths moving through it were thin and shallow, not enough. I felt dizzy.

No. Not now. Please.

What is her
problem? Mell snarled in my head.
Why can't she leave us alone?

We can't let her hurt them!

But how do we stop her?

I don't know. This is all my fault!

Mine, too, Wanda. Ours.

“Are you sure?” Doc asked.

“Kyle got a clear view through the binoculars while it was hovering. Same one he saw before.”

“Is it looking
here?
” Doc's voice was suddenly horrified. He half spun, eyes flashing toward the exit. “Where's Sharon?”

Brandt shook his head. “It's just running sweeps. Starts at Picacho, then fans out in spokes.

Doesn't look like it's focusing on anything close. Circled around a few times where we dumped the car.”

“Sharon?” Doc asked again.

“She's with the kids and Lucina. They're fine. The boys are getting things packed in case we have to roll tonight, but Jeb says it's not likely.”

Doc exhaled, then paced over to his desk. He slouched against it, looking as if he'd just run a long race. “So it's nothing new, really,” he murmured.

“Naw. Just have to lay low for a few days,” Brandt reassured him. His eyes were flickering around the room again, settling on me every other second. “Do you have any rope handy?” he asked. He pulled up the edge of the sheet on an empty cot, examining it.

“Rope?” Doc echoed blankly.

“For the parasite. Kyle sent me out here to secure it.”

My muscles contracted involuntarily; my hand gripped Walter's fingers too tightly, and he whimpered. I tried to force it to relax while I kept my eyes on Brandt's hard face. He was waiting for Doc, expectant.

“You're here to
secure
Wanda?” Doc said, his voice hard again. “And what makes you think that's necessary?”

“Come on, Doc. Don't be stupid. You've got some big vents in here, and a lot of reflective metal.” Brandt gestured to a file cabinet against the far wall. “You let your attention wander for half a minute, and it'll be flashing signals to that Seeker.” I sucked in a shocked breath; it was loud in the still room.

“See?” Brandt said. “Guessed its plan in one.”

I wanted to bury myself under a boulder to hide from the bulging, relentless eyes of my Seeker, yet he imagined I wanted to guide her in. Bring her here to kill Jamie, Jared, Jeb, Ian… I felt like gagging.