Skylight (Arcadium, #2) (16 page)

“Uh… we’re
ready,” Kean says.

Franklin nods.
“Please, right this way.”

Kean and
Trouble disappear, and we wait with three soldiers in silence. A
few minutes later Franklin returns, and we follow him through into
some kind of medical room—white walls and pale blue linoleum
floors. It’s got that sterile smell, like no unwelcome life could
possibly stand a chance of surviving in it. There’s a desk with
paperwork, a closed laptop and a framed picture of a little girl
smiling. And there’s a chair next to a table of needles and
syringes on a metal tray.

Franklin checks
his watch, and gives it a fidgety tap. “Your quarantine period is
officially up so… I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Doctor
Moran, and we’ll wait in the next room.”

“What?” I say.
“Five minutes of quarantine, are you serious?”

Franklin nudges
his glasses. “No, no. I’ve been watching you for thirty minutes,
ever since you entered the underground.” He pauses, looks at the
ground for a moment. “Sorry about the train, though. My brother
completely neglected to warn me that a work crew was going to the
end of the line today.”

I raise my
eyebrows and glance at Jacob.

Jacob shrugs
and says, “Oh well.”

James leaves
and Doctor Moran looks at us. He’s a pretty generic looking Doctor,
maybe thirty something, with ginger hair — almost blonde — and
wearing one of those white coats they so love to wear. He clears
his throat. “Actually I’m a phlebotomist, but… details. Who’s
first? I just need a few samples of blood to test for diseases,
deficiencies and general health.”

“Why?” Jacob
asks.

“You’ve been on
the outside for a long time. Malnutrition is a killer too. You’re
not afraid of needles, are you?”

Jacob glances
at me. “I’m a gentleman, so… ladies first.”

I roll my eyes
and sit in the chair. Doctor Moran prepares his stuff and I try to
look the other way so I won’t catch sight of the needle. Jacob is
leaning against the desk, arms tightly crossed over his chest, eyes
shifting like ninjas, studying everything around me.

Doctor Moran
puts a tie around my arm and I can’t help but look. He taps my
inner elbow with his gloved fingers.

“What’s a
phlebotonist?” I ask.

“Close,” he
says. “A phleboto-M-ist is someone trained to draw blood, transfuse
blood, that sort of thing. Not exactly a nurse or a doctor. But I
think we have a cooler name.” He smiles politely and picks up the
needle, and I look away. “Sharp scratch,” he says.

It’s not that
bad, as long as I don’t look. I wonder how Liss would have reacted
if she were here. I’m pretty sure she’d be screaming and crying and
freaking out. Or maybe that was the old pre-apocalypse Liss. Maybe
I didn’t give her enough credit. She’d become so much braver and
stronger on the road. And to still be a responsive human being
after what she’d been through, and what she’d seen, that was pretty
tough.

“All done,”
Doctor Moran says.

“Really?” I
look back as he presses a cotton ball against my arm.

He nods. “Hold
that down for a few minutes.”

Doctor Moran
labels the vial of blood and prepares a new needle. “Sir, if you
wouldn’t mind?” He points to the chair. I get up and move to one
side.

Jacob still has
his arms crossed. Reluctantly, he pushes off the desk and sits on
the edge of the chair.

“Just relax,”
Doctor Moran says, as he puts the tie around Jacob’s arm. I watch
Jacob’s eyes dart from side to side. I’ve never seen him look like
this, but I guess everyone has a weakness. His isn’t the infected
or dying or being alone… it’s needles.

Jacob offers up
his arm, though, and makes a fist. Doctor Moran leans in, needle in
hand.

“Sharp
scratch,” he says, but doesn’t get the chance to put the needle in
Jacob’s vein.

Jacob punches
him in the chin with a fierce upper cut, and Doctor Moran’s head
snaps back, expelling a burst of breath and a surprised grunt.
Jacob grabs the metal tray from the table and belts the Doctor
across his head. Plastic packets and cotton wool shower over him as
his body collapses to the floor. He’s out cold.

It’s silent for
a few seconds.

“Jacob!” I say.
“What the—”

Jacob lifts his
finger to his lips. “Shh.”

“What the
hell?” I whisper. It all happens so quickly. I just stand, kind of
stunned, watching. I mean, there’s not a lot I can do.

And then Jacob
does the most disturbing thing. He kneels by the man, grabs the
needle and presses it onto the skin of Doctor Moran’s hand. He
draws out the blood slowly, expertly, like he’s done it a thousand
times before.

I just watch,
still holding the cotton wool piece to my arm, my mouth hanging
open. It’s like my brain doesn’t believe what it’s seeing.

Jacob looks
around and after withdrawing the needle he grabs a pair of scissors
off the desk and makes a tiny cut over the pinprick hole in the
man’s hand. Then he wipes the extra blood on the side of the metal
tray. Making the situation all seem like something it’s not.

Finally, Jacob
looks up at me as he wipes the scissor blade clean on his trousers,
and he yells at the top of his lungs, “Help! Help!”

In seconds I
hear running footsteps. Jacob tosses the scissors and starts trying
to wake up Doctor Moran, shaking him gently. The soldiers spill
into the room, guns raised.

“I’m so sorry,”
Jacob says. “I told him I didn’t like needles. It was an accident.
I panicked.” Jacob frantically tries to roll Doctor Moran over. He
glances over his shoulder at the soldiers. “Don’t just stand there!
Help him!”

They descend on
the scene and pull the man up, just as he starts to come around.
Doctor Moran’s eyes groggily open.

“I’m so sorry,”
Jacob says again, really selling his panic. “Doctor, are you
alright?”

Doctor Moran
blinks and shakes his head. He touches his cheekbone and looks
unsure.

“I’m sorry,
Doctor. I didn’t think I’d react like that.”

Doctor Moran
fixes his confused eyes on Jacob. They clear slightly. “It’s
fine.”

“At least you
got the sample.” Jacob gets up. “I don’t think I could do that
again. Oh, gosh, your hand is bleeding.”

Doctor Moran
looks down, surprised.

“Take him to
the medics. Get him checked out,” the lead soldier says.

“I can’t tell
you how sorry I am,” Jacob says to him. “It’s just… needles are not
my thing, and before I knew my hand was like… pow.”

“Relax, mate,”
the soldier says, picking up the vial of Doctor Moran’s blood.
“I’ve seen weirder.”

Jacob lets out
an overly exaggerated sigh of relief.

“You’ll want to
find Franklin next door down.” The soldier nods to the corridor.
“You’ve got a train to catch.”

I wait until
we’re in the corridor and walking away from the scene before saying
anything. I try to keep my voice calm.

“Nice acting,
but what the hell? You just punched a guy in the face for no reason
and then stole his blood!”

“I’ve always
fancied the theatre.” Jacob looks across at me and gets serious. “I
can’t go on record. Not here.”

That makes me
freeze. Jacob keeps walking.

“Stop,” I
say.

Jacob ignores
me.

“Stop,” I say
again, “or I’ll tell everyone that you just knocked a man out and
stole his blood!”

Jacob pauses.
He turns slowly, meets my gaze and walks toward me.

“It’s not like
they’re taking your fingerprints and criminal record. They don’t
even know who you are.”

Jacob’s face
goes hard. “How would you know their intentions, Florence? How
would you know who I am? And you don’t ever threaten me again,”
Jacob says through bared teeth.

I blink and my
eyes go wide.

“You and me,
we’re tied together now,” he says.

I hit him where
I know it will hurt. “You’ll never be a part of this family.
Never.”

Jacob’s eye
twitches.

“And don’t you
ever try to intimidate me again,” I say.

He stands
there, seething in silence.

“What did you
do?” I ask.

“I destroy
things, Florence. The moment I’m on record, they can trace me to
whatever facility I go to next. I won’t make it
easy
for
them. I won’t be stopped,” he says, frantic with energy. “I can’t
be silenced.”

I calmly shrug.
“A heads up would be nice next time is all I’m saying.”

Jacob lets out
a soft laugh. “Next time.”

Chapter 16

IT’S THE ODDEST
feeling being on a half-lit empty train, punching through the city
loop tunnel; like waking up from a dream, or falling into one.

I stand by the
doors, steadying myself on one of the green painted poles, watching
my silver reflection in the dark windows. I always remembered that
from normal times, going through the City Loop, through the pitch
black, and all the glass turning into mirrors: everyone would
secretly watch themselves and fix their hair.

I can’t fix my
reflection though, because everything that is wrong and out of
place with me is on the inside. I can’t fix the part of me that
feels guilty over Liss, that decided to run, that turned to
Jacob.

I can see the
others in the background, standing quietly. Kean stares at his
feet. Trouble looks over the train map. Jacob covertly studies the
nearest soldier’s gun.

I haven’t told
the others that Jacob hit Doctor Moran and stole his blood yet. And
I’m not sure if I will. Does it matter? This is what I signed up
for. I wanted to blow this place up. I wanted to rid the earth of
anything attached to Arcadium. I wonder if maybe I haven’t been
listening to my instincts, like I did on the move with Liss, and
that’s how I got myself to this place where I’m not sure honesty is
the best thing for everyone. But I need it. It’s time to start
trusting myself again. And all I know right now is that something
is very wrong with Jacob. He’s holding something back. Something
big.

And it’s my job
to find out.

The train ride
is no more than a couple of minutes. Next thing I know, we’re
stepping out onto another platform with our soldier escorts — minus
the one cleaning up Jacob’s mess.

This station is
just like the last — clinical lights, no windows, the strange muted
atmosphere of being deep underground — except that the platform
leads to a gate of thick black bars.

“Code’s always
zero-zero-zero, like the old emergency number,” our leading soldier
says. “In case you need to leave.”

“We can leave?”
Kean says.

The soldier
laughs. “It’s not a prison, son. Don’t mind who comes and goes, as
long as they’re not infected.”

Kean glances at
me. “Sounds… reasonable.”

We climb the
static escalators. About half of the lights are on, guiding our
way. The air is chilled and recycled. At the top, everything’s
still the same from the ticket barriers to the old TV screens for
train times — now all blank except for one. The off-white floor
tiles with dirty grout, the blue station signage. The weird ceiling
of hanging grates and spotlights. An ATM, the set of four grey
escalators reaching into the shopping centre above. The old shop
fronts of glass all display makeshift offices with desks and water
coolers and paper work and people in business clothes. We register
a few glances as we pass. One worker, a young woman in a pencil
skirt and pastel green cardigan, swivels in her office chair and
smiles at us. Now that feels weird. Especially since we still have
our armed escort leading us. Well, when I say armed, I mean they do
have guns but they’re so relaxed it’s like they don’t expect to
have to use them. Ever. And suddenly I remember that feeling, like
a flashback to our time in the last facility, where concrete walls
and locked doors meant you could exist without the constant fear of
death… from the infected at least.

We climb the
next set of static escalators and arrive in the core of Melbourne
Central, a multi-level shopping centre wrapped around a towering
cavern of space. I’ve been here before, with my parents, my
friends, with Liss, but it still amazes me. A huge olden-day
redbrick factory sits smack bang in the middle of the modern world,
like no one was allowed to knock it down so they just built around
it. The factory’s chimney tower reaches so high that they had to
construct a huge glass cone in the ceiling to accommodate it.
Staring up at it gives me a crick in the neck and some kind of
vertigo. Natural light pours in and spills over the levels. Blue
city sky and bits of cloud hover beyond the metal framework.
There’s nothing claustrophobic about this place; it’s perfect. No
concrete to choke out all your senses. No narrow hallways with
secret doors. Just wide open spaces, airy levels and a huge window
to the outside world. Despite all the openness, it feels safe. It
feels like a home, not a zoo.

“These the new
ones?” a woman asks. She strides right through our small security
team and looks us over.

I blink back my
surprise, because she just looks so out of place. The woman is just
a bit taller than me, and all the black she’s wearing makes her
skin seem twice as pale. I’m pretty sure she’s wearing leather
pants too, or something close to that kind of badass material. Her
black top is cut off at the elbows, showing a collection of tattoos
that cover most of her forearms and only start to dissipate around
her fingers.

I watch her
face as she studies us. When she turns her head, her dark shiny
shoulder-length hair swishes back to reveal a Southern Cross tattoo
on the side of her neck. She looks straight at me and holds out her
hand.

“I’m Jessie,”
she says, as we shake.

I nod.
“Florence.”